


Once Upon a Broken Christmas

by DKNC



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Family Feels, this one hurts for awhile
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 16:39:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 134,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13035204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DKNC/pseuds/DKNC
Summary: Ned and Catelyn Stark have always looked forward to celebrating Christmas with their children at Winterfell, the big old house up north that 's been in the family for generations. Yet, no one is looking forward to the holiday this year. How do you celebrate Christmas when everything is broken?This tale takes place during 4 days in Winterfell--December 22nd through December 25th. Each chapter will cover one day.





	1. December 22nd

**Author's Note:**

> Don't get mad at me! Get mad at all the folks who specifically asked for angst in their Christmas fic!

**December 22nd**

Catelyn Stark’s hands shook as she looked at the piece of paper she held. One little sheet of paper with her name on it. With both their names. She marveled that this small thing held the power to wound her in the wake of the continual nightmare which began some ten months ago, but somehow it did. She didn’t want to look at it, but she couldn’t take her eyes from it.

“Mom?” 

Her oldest son’s voice penetrated her thoughts from the direction of the office door.

“Mom, are you okay?”

At that, she dropped the offending certificate onto her desk as if it were on fire and turned to look at her son, smiling brightly. “Of course, Robb. Just looking at the mail.” Her voice sounded to her ears as unnaturally bright as her smile, and one look at Robb’s face informed her that it sounded the same to him.

He didn’t call her on it, though. He rarely did anymore. Instead, he looked at her with a mixture of grief, sympathy, and helplessness that both infuriated her and made her oddly proud. Furious that she couldn’t really explain any of this to Robb—or to any of the children. Hell, she was still desperately trying to grasp it herself. But so proud of this handsome, not quite eighteen-year-old young man who’d been forced into manhood unfairly and unpleasantly and still somehow remained the wonderful person he’d always been in the midst of his own and everyone else’s anger and confusion. It wasn’t fair how much everyone relied upon him. He was still supposed to be relying on her. And on his father. They’d failed him miserably, and Catelyn felt anew the guilt of that failure every time she watched Robb watch her too closely, wondering how to say something he feared she wouldn’t want to hear. He was doing that now.

“Dad called,” he said flatly.

She took a breath. Ned never called her directly. Nor did he call the home phone which they still hadn’t given up for some obscure reason. They communicated almost exclusively through the children which she thought rather childish in itself—childishness that was one more way they failed their kids. “About the weather?” she asked softly. “I’ve been watching the weather channel and that storm looks to be getting worse, doesn’t it?”

Robb frowned—Ned’s expression on a masculine version of her own face. “And faster. It’s going to hit today, Mom, rather than tomorrow or Christmas Eve. Dad asked . . . he asked if he we could come up today instead of Christmas Eve morning.” Robb spoke hesitantly.

“Of course,” Catelyn replied with no hesitation at all. “You children have spent every Christmas Eve of your life at Winterfell. I won’t have you miss it this year. Nor will I have you on the road when it’s not safe.”

“But you . . .”

“Will be fine,” she interrupted firmly. “And we’ll all go to Riverrun when you kids get home Christmas Day.”

“What if the roads aren’t cleared?”

“Then we’ll go to Riverrun whenever you’re able to come home. Christmas isn’t only a date on a calendar, Robb. You know that. You’re all out of school until after New Year’s, Grandpa Hoster’s retired, and I’m my own boss. We’ll celebrate, sweetling.” She walked over to him and had to raise up on her toes a bit to kiss him on the cheek and run her hand through the hair so like her own. Once she would have kissed the top of his head, but as he was nearly as tall as his father now, that was out of the question when he was standing.

“Okay,” he said, trying to smile at her. “Mom?” he asked hesitantly again, sounding younger than he had since he’d first stepped into her office. “Is it okay if I say that this sucks?”

“Yes, Robb,” she said with a laugh that wasn’t truly a laugh. “This does suck, and I am so sorry that we’ve done this to all of you.”

“No, Mom,” he said quickly, anger seeping into his voice. “You don’t have to apologize. You didn’t . . .”

“Robb,” she said warningly. “I have told you repeatedly that it takes two people to break a marriage just as much as it takes two to make one. Please do not spend Christmas angry at your father. He is not responsible for the weather.”

“No. Not the weather . . .” Robb said, eyeing her somewhat questioningly.

She sighed. None of the children understood what had happened. How could they? She had given Ned her word she would keep his secret, and so she couldn’t explain to them the events that got all of them to this Christmas. She could recall painfully well last Christmas in Winterfell, all of them together and happy and secure in the knowledge of the love shared among them. She _knew_ what had happened after that and _still_ found it impossible to comprehend how they’d come to this Christmas. Her poor children couldn’t possibly understand.

“Robb,” she sighed. “We’ve been through this. Your father and I are your parents. You’re entitled to our love and support, but not to every private detail of our relationship. And we do love all of you so very much.”

“I know, Mom. If you’re really okay with this, I’ll tell the others they have to pack now, and I’ll make sure there’s enough gas in the SUV.”

“I’ll get Rickon’s things together and then supervise Bran,” she said. “The girls are capable of packing themselves, although God knows what Arya’s clothes will look like when she unpacks them.”

Robb didn’t laugh or even smile at her remark, and Catelyn sighed again. “Robb, I’ll be fine. Honestly. I love all of you and want you to have the best Christmas possible. Your father wants the same. We love you kids more than anything, Robb.”

She’d taken to repeating that sentiment often enough that it frequently got eye rolls, especially from Arya. Robb didn’t roll his eyes now, though. He simply nodded and turned to go, but she clearly heard him mutter under his breath. “You love each other, too, and all this is so damn stupid.”

She bit her lip hard to keep from crying. She knew perfectly well all of the children held on to an unwavering faith that their parents still loved each other. She supposed most children of divorce did that to some extent. God, she hated thinking of her kids as “children of divorce.” But they were. She had the damn piece of paper to prove it. And she had the kids themselves all behaving in some ways as stock characters in a sappy Lifetime movie.

Robb had become Mr. Responsible. He was the unofficial communication director between Ned and Catelyn, attempted to mediate disputes among his siblings (often to their great annoyance), and was exceptionally protective and defensive of Catelyn herself. Sansa had told Catelyn she’d overhead Ned tell Robb to take care of their mother, which had irritated Catelyn and broken her heart at the same time.

Sansa, in her first year of high school, simply tried to be perfect—to avoid upsetting either of her parents about anything, ever. She smiled and sang Christmas carols and talked about her classes and friends and cheer practice, and had even stopped fighting with Arya for the most part.

Arya wouldn’t allow the fights to stop completely, of course. Because Sansa’s enforced cheerfulness grated on her last nerve. In truth, it grated on everyone’s nerves at times, even Catelyn’s, but Arya, the angriest of all the children, was predisposed to lash out at everyone over anything. And she was angriest of all at Catelyn. If Robb couldn’t help thinking that his father must be at fault in their split, Arya harbored no doubts that her mother was the cause.

Catelyn recalled very well her younger daughter’s reaction when Ned had left the house for good in August.

_“You did this! You made Daddy leave! You never, ever forgave him for Jon, and now you made them both leave! I hate you!”_

At the time, Catelyn had been simultaneously overwhelmed and numbed by the fact that her husband had gone, that her marriage was truly over, that Ned had mistrusted her and lied to her and then, after all their years together and what he had done, had believed her capable of wishing to inflict pain on a child for sheer vindictiveness. That had been a bitter pill to swallow, and she’d found herself wondering if the two of them had ever known each other at all. She hadn’t even the strength to respond to Arya’s outburst, lost in her own pain and the impossible fact that nothing Arya said was entirely true, nor was it entirely false. And she couldn’t explain any of it to Arya or anyone else without sharing a secret that wasn’t hers to share.

Thirteen year old Arya had run out of the house and kept on running the 7.5 miles to Ashara Dayne’s apartment. Catelyn hadn’t known that at the time. She hadn’t known that Ned went directly to his former girlfriend’s house after that last, terrible argument, nor that he had stayed there for two weeks until he found himself a place. She’d found that out later, and in one of her darker moments a couple months ago, she’d driven to Ashara’s apartment herself. She’d never gotten out of her car, only taken note of the fact that Ned’s car wasn’t there, and that the distance from their house to that apartment was 7.5 miles. She’d furiously wondered if Ned had driven there over the years without telling her. It wouldn’t have been difficult. She couldn’t help having those terrible thoughts even though she’d known it wasn’t true. Ned had never cheated on her during their marriage. Not even when he’d claimed he had. It still hurt that he’d gone straight from their home to hers, though.

Arya hated Ashara Dayne with a passion. She’d not liked her from the time she’d learned as a little girl that she had at one time been engaged to her father—a time before Ned and Catelyn had ever met. Ned and Catelyn used to laugh about it, their daughter being so adamantly opposed to her parents ever having loved anyone but each other—apparently not allowed to have had their own childhoods or youths, simply springing into existence as Arya’s mom and dad, an unbreakable unit. They’d both reprimanded Arya for her rudeness to Ashara whenever they’d run into her, and both had repeatedly apologized to Ashara herself. She’d always laughed and said it was fine, and Catelyn had found her to be a perfectly nice person. Now, though, she was more inclined to share Arya’s feelings. It was, of course, none of her business how or with whom Ned spent his time anymore. But they had still been married when he spent those two weeks at her apartment, and that had hurt badly.

It also hurt to know that Arya was prepared to run 7.5 miles toward a woman she couldn’t stand to get away from the mother she now apparently hated more. Upon her arrival there, it seems she’d launched into quite the tirade about her to Ned who’d then shouted at her as he’d never done before, demanding that she never speak about her mother like that again before driving her home.

Once Ned got his own place, the kids all spent every Thursday with him (his weekday off) and every other weekend including the Friday. Much to Catelyn’s chagrin, Ashara Dayne would come to his place on those Friday afternoons to watch the younger kids after school until Ned got home from work so that Robb and Sansa didn’t have to give up their school activities. The arrangement seemed to work all right, but Arya began acting out more and more with Catelyn, and then flat out refusing to go home to her dad’s after school on Fridays if Ashara was there, seeming even more resentful of Ned’s new woman than she was her mother. Faced with virtual all-out rebellion by their daughter, Ned and Catelyn were forced to have a rare face to face conversation about her and it was decided that she would stay at Ned’s Monday through Thursday each week. At thirteen, she was old enough to be fairly independent, and Jon had promised to always be home for her when Ned wasn’t. On all Fridays, she stayed with Catelyn, and she spent her weekends at whatever home her siblings were in. Catelyn hated that she only had her daughter in her home 4 days out of every 2 weeks, but she wanted Arya to be as happy as she could be. Over time, all three older kids learned their parents were willing to accommodate whatever changes in the schedule they needed for school or social events. Guilt over what they had done to their children and a need to make things as okay as possible for them was one goal Ned and Catelyn still shared. And they both still felt they were failing the most miserably with Arya.

Bran, in his final year of elementary school, had gotten very quiet. He’d always been a social boy, easy to laugh, easy to love. No one disliked Bran. He was still a sweet, smart, kind boy, but he didn’t laugh very often anymore. He spent more time alone reading books or working puzzles. Like Sansa, he tried not to create any problems for anyone, but unlike Sansa, he made no attempt to pretend happiness.

Poor Rickon was just lost. He’d just started first grade when Ned left, and Catelyn got at least one phone call or email a week from school. Rickon had hit a classmate. Rickon had thrown a temper tantrum. Rickon had started crying for no reason at recess and wouldn’t stop. On and on, it went. At home, he had begun acting much younger than his 6 years and more nights than not, he’d taken to sleeping in her bed. She didn’t bother taking him back to his even though she knew she should. And she was honest enough to admit to herself that was as much for her benefit as his. Sleeping alone in the bed she’d shared with Ned for years wasn’t easy, and usually she slept a bit more easily with their baby curled up beside her. Except for when he had nightmares. Or asked impossible questions. One particularly horrible night, he’d asked her if Daddy loved Jon more than he loved all of them and was that the reason that he only wanted Jon with him all the time now. A dark bitter, part of her mind silently insisted that was, in fact, the truth of it, but the larger, more rational and fair part knew the truth wasn’t that simple. She’d simply assured her son that his father loved him very much and held him tightly. She didn’t sleep at all that night, and the next day school called her to tell her that Rickon had wet his pants after lunch and was now crying and begging them not to tell his daddy that he acted like a baby.

Ned never got any of those school calls. As she worked from home, she’d been the school’s contact person for all the children since they’d started school. Even after Ned gave up weekend work trips and went to the four day work-week schedule at her insistence after Bran was born (because a newborn, a two-year old, a four-year-old, and two seven-year-olds were just too much to handle on her own all the time) the four days he did work would often stretch out to ten hours or longer. It was easier for her to handle all the school stuff, and she supposed it still was. It had been odd when the high school called her to report Jon was absent in November, however. She’d really not wanted to call Ned at work so she’d simply called Jon’s cell. He’d answered right away and she’d asked if he was all right. It had been the first time they’d spoken since August. He told her he had Strep throat and that Robb (who’d spent that night with his dad to work on an economics project) was supposed to take a note to the office. She’d told him to drink plenty of liquids and that she’d take care of it. And then he’d said, ‘I’m sorry.’ She’d known perfectly well he wasn’t talking about just the call from school. ‘It’s all right, Jon,’ she’d told him. ‘It’s not really your fault, is it?’ She wondered if he’d known that she wasn’t talking about the damn school call either.

All of the children were hurting. Even Jon. Not that she could do anything about Jon’s pain. Ned had made it very clear that she wasn’t to have anything to do with Jon. He didn’t trust her with Jon, and protecting Jon from her was paramount in his concerns. She tried very hard to keep the pain of that bottled up tightly and focus on caring for the five children she did have as best she could.

As she made her way toward Rickon’s bedroom, she nearly collided with Arya barreling out of her own bedroom. She unceremoniously thrust her cell phone at Catelyn with a scowl. “Here. It’s Dad. He says Robb’s not picking up.”

“What does he want?”

“I don’t know. I’m not a messenger service. He can talk to you himself.”

Catelyn sighed and reached out her hand to take the phone. Arya was right, after all. They had to stop using their children as messengers. Whatever lay between them, they were the adults in this situation.

“Ned?” she said into the phone.

“Catelyn?” He sounded shocked to hear her voice. Apparently, Arya hadn’t told him she was ditching messenger duty. Arya stood there in the hallway watching her, though, so she obviously was interested in what her father had to say.

“Arya gave me her phone,” she said by way of explanation. “Robb is likely out in the garage, making sure the SUV is ready to go.”

“I don’t want him to drive,” Ned said firmly.

“What? He told me that you wanted the kids to come today to beat the storm, and I told him I agreed so . . .”

“They can’t beat it, Cat. Not entirely. The damn thing’s moving too quickly. It may well start snowing before they arrive, and Robb’s never driven in the snow up north before.”

“Oh, Ned! They can’t miss Christmas at Winterfell!” Catelyn exclaimed. “Not after all . . . they need Christmas to feel halfway normal.” She was irritated by the tears forming in her eyes because Arya continued to watch her.

“I know. I’d like to come get them. We’ll definitely be driving in snow by the time I can get down there and back, but I’ve got the big SUV up here, and I’ve driven in worse storms all my life.”

“Ned! Aren’t you already in Winterfell?”

At that question, Arya looked murderous and muttered, “He’s there, all right.”

Arya was supposed to be in Winterfell, too. All the kids had stayed with their father the past weekend, and since she stayed with Ned the early part of each week, she’d been supposed to go on up to Winterfell with him after school got out Tuesday. She’d been excited about helping him and Jon get the place ready. Then inexplicably she’d showed up at home Monday night with eyes like storm clouds and said she didn’t want to spend the whole week before Christmas away from her family. Gently questioning had elicited only angry glares, so Catelyn had let it go. 

“Yes, I’m in Winterfell,” Ned was saying, “But I can leave right now and be at your place in two and a half hours.”

 _Your place._ Hearing him call the home they’d shared for most of their nearly two decade marriage ‘your place’ felt rather like being stabbed in the heart.

“Don’t be ridiculous! It’s at least a three hour drive, which means, even if the kids all jump in with the motor running, it’ll be six hours before you get back to Winterfell! A lot of snow can fall in six hours, Ned.”

“But you said yourself they need to be here, and I don’t want Robb to . . .”

“I’ll drive them,” she interrupted.

“What?” Ned and Arya exclaimed at the exact same time.

“I’ll drive them, Ned,” she said patiently. “I’ve driven in plenty snow myself, and God knows I’ve driven our SUV through awful conditions. I can have them there in three hours before the worst of it hits and then be driving south instead of north after that. As in away from the storm instead of into it. You know that makes more sense.”

He was quiet a moment, and Arya looked as if she was about to explode. 

“Ned,” Catelyn asked as she looked at their daughter. “Did you and Arya have some sort of disagreement Monday?”

“Mom!” Arya yelled, giving the word about five syllables.

“She didn’t tell you?” Ned asked.

“She told me nothing. But she’s not been herself at all. And I know she was looking forward to going up with you and Jon so . . Arya quit it!” The last was directed at her daughter who was now grabbing at the phone.

“She had a wrong idea about something,” Ned said simply. “Likely my fault. Let me talk to her a moment, but then get the phone back. We have to sort out this driving business, Cat. I don’t want to be unfair to you.”

She had absolutely no response to that so she handed Arya the phone. Arya looked at it as if it might bite her and then held it up to her ear. “It’s me,” she said.

After listening a minute, she said, “Are you sure? Because if Mom drives us up there and . . .”

Ned must have interrupted her because she got quiet for a bit. “Yeah, Dad. Maybe you’re not as stupid as I thought.”

“Arya!” Catelyn admonished her almost by reflex.

Arya shrugged and handed her the phone back.

“What was that all about?” Catelyn asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” he replied. “Are you sure you want to do this, Cat?” He sounded honestly concerned about her, and that was almost harder for her than indifference or irritation would have been.

“I want my children to have Christmas at Winterfell and it sounds like the safest way for that to be accomplished is to get them there as quickly as possible with an experienced driver behind the wheel. Would you agree?”

He chuckled. “I should know not to argue with a Tully. You are the most irritatingly rational person I’ve ever met.”

She smiled in spite of herself. “Well, then. Since you concede that point, you have to realize that I’m the logical person for the job. I’ll get them all moving and I expect I can have them to you in three and a half hours. Four, maybe if the snow does hit us on the way there.”

He was silent for a brief moment.

“Thank you, Cat. And drive carefully, okay? Be safe.”

He’d said that exact same thing to her more than a thousand times. ‘Drive carefully. Be safe.’

She responded the say she always had. “I will. Promise.”

She then ended the call and handed the phone back to a now smirking Arya.

“What?” she asked her daughter.

“Nothing,” Arya said in a tone that sounded like anything but nothing. Then she smiled and turned to go back into her room.

“Pack up quickly, miss!” Catelyn called after her.

“I will. Promise!” Arya called back. Then she giggled.

Most children of divorce held onto that faith that their parents still loved each other. In her own children’s case, they were right. Sadly, however, it didn’t change anything. 

Catelyn Stark took a deep breath and called for her youngest son as she walked on to his room. She had a snowstorm to beat.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Ned Stark stared at the cell phone in his hand. She hadn’t said goodbye before ending the call. _I will. I promise._ How many times had she said that to him over the years? He stood there not knowing how to feel about the fact that she’d be on her way to Winterfell within the hour. She’d spent every Christmas Eve for the past twenty years in Winterfell. With him. Every Christmas Eve since the year of their engagement. He’d spent the past two and a half days wandering the big old house, convincing himself he could do this for his children—he could spend Christmas Eve here without her. And now she was on her way here only to turn around and leave. He wasn’t entirely certain how the hell he was supposed to handle that.

“The car’s all cleaned out, Dad. I got all that junk out of the back row so everybody will fit.”

Jon’s voice caused him to look up from his phone. The boy had obviously just come in from the kitchen door because he was still taking off his jacket. “What?” Ned said absently.

“The car,” Jon repeated. “The big old snowbeast. You had me go out to the garage and clear it out so we can get going?” He looked at Ned as if he feared senility had set in.

“Oh, yes,” Ned said rather absently, looking back down at his phone. He sighed and laid it on the table before looking back up to Jon. “Thanks, son. Looks like we won’t be needing it, though.”

“She won’t let them come?” Jon’s voice sounded both distraught and accusatory. “How can she make them miss Christmas Eve?”

“She isn’t,” Ned replied. “Cat’s driving them up.”

“What?” Jon said disbelievingly.

“She can have them here in half the time it would take us to fetch them. She wants them off the road as soon as possible in case the snow is as bad or worse than they’re saying.”

“Oh,” Jon said. “Yeah, I can see her wanting that. Is . . . Catelyn staying here with us then?”

Ned heard the slight apprehension in his voice. Jon and Catelyn had never been close, but the boy had never objected to her presence. Ned knew he suspected he was the cause of their split even though he’d tried to reassure him that wasn’t the case. That reassurance rang rather hollow when he couldn’t really give him any alternative explanations, and Ned felt the bitter taste of guilt that had become all too familiar on his tongue as he said, “No. I imagine she’ll want to head back out as soon as possible to stay ahead of the weather.”

“And if the snow’s already bad when they get here?” Jon asked, walking to hang up his jacket in the hall closet.

“Well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, won’t we?” Ned said with a nonchalance he didn’t feel.

“I guess we will.” Then Jon grinned rather wickedly. “Bet you’re glad you listened to Arya now, huh?”

“Jon,” Ned said warningly. “Your sister was extremely rude and disrespectful, not to mention completely off base.”

“She wasn’t _completely_ off base, Dad.”

“Jon, you know perfectly well that I am not . . .”

“I don’t mean that part!” Jon interrupted hurriedly. “I mean that inviting her here for Christmas in the first place was a really stupid idea. I’d have told you that if you’d asked me.”

“I thought you liked Ashara.”

Jon shrugged. “I do. She’s never been anything but nice to me, even if it is kind of annoying at times because I know it’s mostly for your sake, not mine.”  
“That isn’t . . .”  
“It’s true. I don’t mean that she’s fake or anything. I think she likes me just fine. She likes Bran and Sansa, too, and she tries to be nice to Rickon. I just mean that I don’t think she’d be all that interested in knowing or liking us if it weren’t for you. You’re the one she cares about, so she’s trying with us. That’s not a crime.”

Ned sighed. “It certainly isn’t. I don’t know what I’d have done without her help these past few months.”

Jon laughed and walked back into the kitchen. “Considering you can’t cook and you can barely do your own laundry, I’d say that’s a fair statement. We’d have probably starved by now—especially when Sansa’s not with us. You want a coke or anything?”

“Yes! With some ice!” Ned called, thinking that a coke with a healthy slug of bourbon in it might be precisely what he needed. He walked across the large great room, around the tree that he and Jon had decorated the previous day, to the liquor cabinet. He pulled out a bottle of Blanton’s and regarded the tree. It did look good. Thank God Jon had pretty much known where all the Christmas decorations were and where they were supposed to go because Cat and the kids had always done that before he got to Winterfell. She’d bring them up as soon as they got off school (as he had done with Jon this year) and he’d always worked through the 23rd. It’s honestly why he’d invited Ashara in the first place. He felt completely incapable of actually pulling off Christmas on his own. The kids’ gifts were all here at least. He’d received an email from Catelyn shortly after Thanksgiving (which the kids had spent with her at her father’s) stating that she thought the kids should spend Christmas Eve at Winterfell with him, listing the gift requests they’d put in for Santa (as long as Rickon was a true believer, all the kids would get Santa gifts), and offering to shop for whatever he needed her to. He’d responded gratefully that he’d love to have them at Winterfell and that he’d take care of all of those presents. Ashara had introduced him to Amazon, and he’d managed to procure everything without too much difficulty. 

Jon didn’t bat an eye as he watched him pour a generous amount of bourbon into the coke and ice. He’d left plenty of room in the glass, and Ned wondered if he’d realized that was his intent all along. He wasn’t much of a drinker, but he had taken to having something most evenings. He couldn’t say it made anything better really, but it did help him survive how awful everything actually was. “I didn’t think I could do this on my own,” he said quietly, after taking a large drink.

“I know, Dad,” Jon said quietly. “But all teasing aside, you’ve done okay. None of my underwear is pink anymore.”

“That’s because you’ve taken over the laundry,” Ned said with a laugh.

“Exactly!” Jon said, raising his glass. “You’ve learned how to delegate.” 

They both laughed, and then Ned sighed. “I still don’t know what we’re gonna eat, though. Ashara had plans to cook . . .”

“And that would have been awful,” Jon insisted.

“I thought you liked her cooking,” Ned protested.

“I do,” Jon assured him. “It definitely beats yours or mine. But it isn’t Catelyn’s. And this is Christmas, Dad. The others are willing to try to have a Christmas without their mother. They aren’t happy about it, but they’re ready to make the best of it. But they aren’t ready to have you just replace her.”

“That’s not what I’m doing!” Ned insisted angrily. Arya’s own angry words when he’d told her and Jon that Ashara would be coming to Winterfell with them rang in his head—just as they had multiple times a day since Monday. _It’s our Christmas, Dad! Ours! Just because you’re fucking her doesn’t make her family!_ “Jon,” he said more quietly. “What Arya said about . . . Ashara and me . . . you know it’s not true, right?” 

Jon rolled his eyes in typical teenager fashion. He was a surprisingly mature young person, but he was still seventeen, and Ned had asked him this more than once since Monday.

“I’ve already told you I know you’re not sleeping with her, Dad. But if you keep asking me, I might start thinking you’re protesting too much.”

“Jon . . .” Ned said warningly.

“Seriously, Dad. You’ve got to let it go. And if it bothers you that much, maybe you should spend less time with her. Arya’s not the only one who thinks you’re sleeping with her. I know Robb does, in spite of what I try to tell him, and Sansa probably does, too. Rickon’s clueless of course, and I don’t know that Bran thinks too much about sex, but he did ask me if you were going to marry her now.”

“He asked what?” Ned spluttered. This was the first he’d heard about this.

Jon sighed. “She’s been around almost all the time from the moment we left home. What’s he supposed to think? He’s barely eleven and he doesn’t know why his parents split up. None of us know, really. It doesn’t make sense. And now she’s always there. And she definitely likes you. Or as Sansa and her giggle bunch would put it, she ‘LIKES likes’ you.”

“You’re all being ridiculous.” Ned took another drink of his bourbon, wondering if the kids talked to Catelyn about any of this. She knew his history with Ashara, of course, but she’d never expressed any jealousy or irrational suspicions throughout their marriage. That had been before she’d caught him in his lie, though. God only knew what she’d believe of him now. “But my original point stands. I have no idea what we’ll eat up here, especially if we get snowed in.”

“Maybe we should go back to the grocery then,” Jon said, appearing to recognize that Ned wanted to change the subject. They’d gotten basic supplies when they’d first got up to the house, but nothing fit for Christmas Eve celebrations. “Catelyn has a standard grocery list for Christmas every year. I know where it is.”

“What good would it do us? I certainly can’t cook a turkey.”

Jon laughed. “Maybe not, but it would be hilarious to see you try! Seriously, though, we don’t need a turkey, but not everything she makes is complicated. We can get easy stuff and some of the less complicated traditional stuff. And I’ll get all the stuff on her baking list because we always help make the cookies. I think that might be fun since the others are coming early. And I know Sansa can make the lemon cakes. Come on, Dad! Let’s do this!”

The idea of all his children baking Christmas treats without Catelyn there supervising, fussing, laughing, and singing those ridiculous carols made him want to cry rather than return Jon’s smile. But he knew Jon was trying everything he could to keep him from being miserable this Christmas, and he did love him for it. He didn’t deserve it, but he loved him for it. “All right,” he said, downing his drink. He held up the empty glass. “But you’re driving so let’s get going before the snow hits.”

The shopping went much more smoothly and quickly than Ned had imagined possible, and upon their return, Jon seemed to know where everything needed to go in the kitchen which surprised him somewhat, and he said as much.

Jon laughed. “I always helped Catelyn put stuff away in the kitchen. Arya and the little boys run off the minute anything seems like work. Robb and Sansa stick around, but they get distracted pretty easily. And I honestly like helping with the cooking. She used to say it took her twice as long to accomplish anything in the kitchen when I wasn’t around.” He shrugged a little and looked down at the ground. “I kind of wondered about that on Thanksgiving. Wondered if she missed me just a little bit when she was cooking.”

Ned and Jon had eaten takeout pizza from the only pizza place in town that was open on Thanksgiving. Ashara had invited them to her brother’s family’s home, but that didn’t seem right to Ned. He looked at Jon now and realized he’d been so caught up in his own misery that day that he hadn’t fully appreciated how miserable Thanksgiving was for Jon. He also wondered how he’d never paid attention to the fact that Jon enjoyed helping out in the kitchen. Or that Catelyn had complimented him for it.

“I’m glad she was kind to you here, Jon,” Ned said softly, and surprisingly Jon scowled at him.

“In the kitchen, you mean?” he asked, indicating the room they were sitting in with a sweep of his arms. “Now you sound like Arya! I know perfectly well Catelyn doesn’t love me like her own kids and that she hates the fact that you screwed around on her. And I know I’ve gotten pissy about it over the years because what you did isn’t my fault even if it feels like it is.”

“Jon . . .”

Jon continued as if Ned hadn’t interrupted him. “But it’s not like she beat me or treated me like shit or made me clean toilets or refused to feed me, you know! I got everything my brothers and sisters did, Dad. She never took anything away from me or refused to give me anything. I bitched because she didn’t cheer for me as loudly at basketball games as she did for Robb, and I admit I liked Arya getting all pissed off sometimes on my account. It felt good to know I was somebody’s favorite, you know? But now Arya’s convinced that her mother ran us off because she hates me and that’s just bullshit! I never felt like she hated me. I felt . . . left out, I guess. But not hated. That’s why I don’t understand, Dad. What the hell happened between you two? And what does it have to do with me?”

That outburst seemed to have come from thin air, and Ned wondered how long Jon had kept this bottled up, and why he’d let it out now. Of course, in spite of the fact that Jon lived with him full time, there was usually at least one of his siblings about. Or Ashara. And Ned knew he hadn’t been the most observant parent lately or the most encouraging of communication. There were too many things that he couldn’t say. That he could never allow himself to say. “It isn’t to do with you, Jon,” he said as calmly as he could. 

“Bullshit!” Jon said again. “She never hated me. She never loved me, maybe, but she didn’t hate me. She only ever seemed to mind me when she was pissed off at you for something--which wasn’t very often. And then, right before school ended last spring, something changed. She couldn’t look at me for weeks. Even Robb noticed. It was weird. The two of you were fighting about something so I thought maybe I was just getting her anger at you, but . . . it was different. And when she did start looking at me again, I’d catch her staring at me, like she had to figure something out. And she could barely speak to me, and it seemed like I made her . . . I don’t know . . . sad. Not angry so much. Not irritated like I was used to from her before. Just really sad. And it went on like that all summer, and then you came and told me we were leaving—just you and me. So don’t tell me this isn’t about me. Because I know you’re lying. And I don’t understand it, Dad. Because I swear Arya’s wrong. Whatever this is, it’s not about Catelyn just hating me. And I just wish you would tell me what it is about.”

Ned found himself unable to meet Jon’s eyes. What could he say to him? “You are not responsible, Jon. Catelyn and I are responsible for our own actions, and that is not on you. You have to believe me.”

They’d been sitting at the kitchen table. Now Jon stood up. “Yeah, sure. I just have to believe you. Even though I know you’re keeping something from me. Is it about my mother, Dad? There has to be more to the story than just ‘she’s dead.’ You have to know more than you’ve told me.” He shook his head. “I’ll say this for Catelyn. She’s always been honest with me. She never pretended to love me. And she’s the only one who’s ever told me anything about my mother.”

That stunned Ned. Cat hadn’t known anything about Jon’s mother until this spring. She’d known only the carefully crafted tale designed to be intentionally vague on details and leading only to a dead end if it were investigated. “Cat knows no more about your mother than you do, Jon,” Ned lied. It would have been the truth less than a year ago, though.

“No,” he said. “But she knows what it is to be a mother.” He didn’t sit back down, instead walking over to lean on the kitchen counter. “When I was twelve, some kids were harassing Theon Greyjoy about his mother being crazy. He got all upset and yelled out ‘At least my mother’s not a whore like Jon’s!’ I wasn’t even in the conversation, but I guess he just wanted to say anything that made his mother not the worst. I don’t know. Anyway, Robb punched him in the nose and got sent to the office, and Catelyn had to come pick him up. Only when he told her why he did it, she didn’t punish him. And she came to my room to talk to me.”

Ned had never heard any of this before, either.

“She told me she knew very little about my mother,” Jon continued. “But she knew she wasn’t a whore. She was just an ordinary woman who was kind to you when you were far from home in the war, and wounded, and sad about your brother getting killed. I understood enough by then to realize what type of “being kind” led to babies so I asked her if she hated my mother. She said there was no point in hating the dead. I told her I wished I knew more about her, and she said she could only tell me one thing. That she loved me.”

That truly startled Ned. Of course, Jon’s mother loved him desperately, but Cat hadn’t known any of the truth when Jon was twelve.

“I asked her how she could know that, and she said because of what she did when she was dying. Fixing it so I’d be given to you. She said that a mother who didn’t care for her child wouldn’t have gone to all that trouble to make certain he had a father when he couldn’t have a mother anymore.” Jon shrugged again. “It wasn’t much, I guess. But it helped.” He’d been looking down, but now he raised his eyes to meet Ned’s. “And it’s more than you ever told me about her, Dad. So I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you won’t tell us what happened between you and Catelyn. Or what it has to do with me.” Jon walked away then and left Ned sitting in the kitchen very much alone.

“She did love you, Jon,” he whispered. ”God willing, she still does.”

He closed his eyes and considered all his son had told him. _She never hated me._ Jon had said that multiple times, and Ned recalled with shame the things he’d said in anger to his wife during that last terrible argument. _Do you hate him so much, Cat? Do you truly want to cause him pain? Or put him in danger?_

He couldn’t close his eyes against that memory any more than he could close his eyes against the memory of the promise which had brought them all to this place. The last time he’d seen his sister.

He'd nearly given up. Everyone believed she was dead. Catelyn had tolerated the three trips he’d taken to Essos in the first year of their marriage chasing leads and rumors, but each time he’d left her, he’d seen in her eyes more worry for him and less hope of his success in actually finding Lyanna. Shortly before Robb’s first birthday, he’d finally been contacted by Lya’s handler from the Agency. The man had told him that Lyanna had disappeared some time ago while on a deep cover assignment, and that they had recently obtained strong evidence she’d been killed. What assignment, what evidence, the man wouldn’t say. He only kept repeating that she’d died in the service of her country and wouldn’t be forgotten. Except that no one could ever know what the hell she’d been doing, Ned had thought angrily at the time.

They’d had a funeral. Catelyn’s idea. She felt he needed some sort of formal farewell to his sister. She’d only met Lyanna once—at their wedding. Lya had surprised Ned by showing up. She’d only been recruited by the Agency a few months before, and he’d not expected her to be there. As neither Brandon nor Ben could get leave, it had meant the world to him. She’d viewed Catelyn with suspicion, not trusting that a woman who’d supposedly once loved Brandon honestly wanted to marry Ned. Of course, Catelyn had only dated Brandon for a few months before they decided to go their separate ways, and that had been years before Ned and she started dating, but Lya had always hung on their elder brother’s every word, and Brandon had made it sound like Catelyn was some sort of femme fatale bent on destroying the Stark brothers when he’d heard the two were dating. He always did have a flair for drama. Lyanna’s funeral had been nice, though. Much smaller than Brandon’s before or Ben’s years after—but comforting some small way. Cat had been right about that.

Then two months after Robb’s birthday, he’d gotten that email. _Better Not Lag Behind. Cupcakes on Sunday._ He’d scarcely been able to breath when he’d read it. ‘Better not lag behind.’ His mother had warned each of them to keep up with her using those very words countless times during their childhood. And Lyanna, who always loved looking for the most obscure truths and patterns even as a child, pointed out that the words started with the same letters they did. Brandon, Ned, Lyanna, Ben. Brandon’s pointing out that Ned’s real name started with an E hadn’t deterred her at all. She’d begun using her mother’s phrase to refer to the four of them like a code. Ned had never told anyone that. Not even Catelyn. And he couldn’t imagine Ben would use it. He’d been little more than a baby when Lyanna had been most enamored of the phrase. ‘Cupcakes on Sunday.’ That had only ever meant one thing during their childhood. Every summer, the Starks spent the month of July in a little seaside town on the northeast coast, and on Sundays, Lyarra Stark would take her children to a little bakery that served amazing cupcakes and then let them eat them in the park and play. Ned hadn’t been to that town in years. He didn’t know if the bakery was still there or if he could even remember how to find it. But he received that email the last week of June, and he knew he had to go.

It had been painful to lie to Cat, to tell her he’d been handed an out of town meeting to attend. She’d believed him, of course. He’d traveled a lot for work in those days. He hadn’t wanted to lie, but if he’d told her he was searching for Lyanna again, only months after her funeral, she’d have worried about his mental state. So he’d kissed her and Robb goodbye and flown to the coast, half hopeful and half convinced he was as insane as his wife would likely fear he was if she knew what he was doing. But he hadn’t been insane. He’d not found the bakery which must have been closed or bought out by a new business or something, but he walked through the park anyway, barely taking notice of what appeared to be an elderly woman sitting on a bench until she said his name.

He’d turned to look at her, and she’d raised the scarf which had hidden most of her face to reveal grey eyes very like his own and far from elderly. He’d nearly shouted her name, but she’d quickly pointed down the path and said, “I think it’s that way,” as if he’d asked her for directions. He’d simply stood there stunned, trying to make sense of her words, trying to make sense of her being there alive in front of him, when she rose from the bench so slowly and stiffly that anyone observing them would still likely be convinced he spoke with an old woman. She took his arm with one hand and continued pointing and gesturing with the other, leaning close to whisper. “Walk in the direction I’m pointing and buy a coffee or something at the little stand at the end of the path. Then go to a hotel or something, Ned, but come to this address at seven tomorrow morning.” He hadn’t even noticed that the hand on his arm held a piece of paper in it, but she slid her hand down his arm and pressed it into his own hand as she squeezed his hand like an old woman might and then sat back down on her bench. Walking away from her without another word was one of the most difficult things he’d ever done.

The following morning, he’d gone to an apartment nearly twenty blocks from the park. He’d found her there, and she’d thrown her arms around him as soon as he’d closed the door. “Ned! I’ve missed you so much!”

“Lya! What is all this? They told us you were dead! Are you in some kind of trouble?” he’d asked while he’d held her tightly against him, scarcely believing her to be real.

She’d pulled back enough to look at him then, and he saw grief, apprehension, and determination on her face. “If you mean the Agency, they think I am dead. God knows I worked hard enough at making that happen. And I’ve been in trouble for a long time.”

“Oh, Lyanna! Come home with me. We can . . .”

“No,” she’d interrupted sharply. “Home is one place I can never go again. I’m dead, big brother. And I have to stay dead unless I want to get myself and everyone I love killed.”

“You aren’t making any sense. Let’s get out of here and . . .”

“No,” she’d said again, and Ned heard steel in her voice. “Sit down, Ned.” She spoke softly, but he’d heard the command in her voice, and silently he’d taken a seat. Over the next hour, she’d told him her tale.

She’d been assigned to go undercover at a club frequented by very wealthy men—members of crime families, international arms dealers, terrorism supporters, and all manner of men who the Agency had reason to want intelligence on. What no one had predicted is that she’d catch the eye of the son of Mad Aerys Targaryen himself. As the head of an international crime syndicate that liked to play politics, Aerys was one of the most dangerous men in the world, and his heir apparent fell for a dancer at a high end club named Rose Winters. In spite of the anger and terror in the pit of his stomach as his sister’s story had unfolded, Ned couldn’t help but laugh at the name she’d chosen for herself. Their father had always called her his little Winter Rose, and she’d hated it. In any event, Rhaegar Targaryen had offered her a penthouse and all the luxury she could want in exchange. He was married, of course, but he wanted her, and he was a man who got what he wanted. And the Agency leapt at the chance, all but ordering her to become Rhaegar’s lover. They’d never had anyone this close to the Targaryens before. What they hadn’t counted on was that Lyanna would actually fall in love with the man.

“Lyanna!” Ned had exclaimed in shock when she’d told him that. “He’s a killer!”

“Was a killer,” she’d replied softly.

Ned had then recalled hearing something about Rhaegar being killed in a shootout overseas not long after Robb was born. “He was a killer,” he’d corrected himself.

“We’re all killers,” Lyanna had said in a chillingly emotionless voice. “When we need to be.” Ned had killed men when he fought in the war, so he hadn’t contradicted her, but he’d not believed it to be the same thing. He still didn’t.

“I still did my job,” she’d continued. “I passed any information that seemed useful on to my contacts. Just not any information that would have allowed them to hurt Rhaegar. He loved me, Ned. And I loved him. Even knowing what his family was. I told myself it didn’t matter.” She’d looked down. “But then he told me something. He trusted me, you see. He told me all the things that haunted him. The things he’d done that . . . tortured him. And he told me about the war. How his family had sold arms and intelligence to both sides. They had properties and assets in most of the countries fighting for both sides, you see, so they cared more for their own power and profit than for victory or defeat of either side.” She’d looked up at him. “They still do, you know. They’ll do anything to advance their own wealth and influence. And they’ll hurt anybody. Even their own children!” She’d spoken those words with a vengeance. “Anyway, he told me about an arms deal he’d orchestrated with a general for the other side. Only . . . the deal was to sell arms to our army . . . to the special forces.” Her voice had broken and Ned had prayed he was wrong about where she was going with this. “Remember when Brandon’s company was sent behind the lines—right after your wedding? They were sent with minimal equipment and told they’d have a contact there. But . . . the contact was Rhaegar’s man. He sold them guns that would misfire after the first few shots. That’s why they were all killed, Ned! Brandon died because Rhaegar took money to make certain he couldn’t fight back! And then . . . then I couldn’t stay there anymore. I couldn’t! But I couldn’t leave because . . .”

Quietly, she’d stood up and walked out of the room. When she returned, she’d held a child—a little boy who looked to be about the same age as Robb, maybe a little younger. And the child had looked up at Ned with Lyanna’s grey eyes.

“Dad!” 

Jon’s voice jerked Ned from his reverie.

“Hey, Dad,” Jon said, running his hand through his hair and leaning on the doorframe of the entryway to the kitchen. “I didn’t think you’d still be sitting here. I’m sorry I brought all that stuff up, okay? It’s Christmas. Let’s just make it is good as we can, okay? I mean, I do want you to tell me, but . . . it doesn’t need to be now.”

His mind felt too full and his tongue too thick to speak so Ned simply nodded.

“They should be here soon. Do you think Catelyn will come in? I mean, surely she’ll at least want to pee or something before driving right back.”

“Of course, she should come in, Jon,” Ned almost snapped. “I’ll not treat my wife like a taxi service.” The word ‘wife’ had come automatically to his lips, and he saw that Jon hadn’t missed it.

“Dad,” he said softly. “That’s just it. She’s not your wife now or, she won’t be anyway, once the divorce is final. And I was just thinking about that picture . . .”

 _Oh god! That picture!_ He’d nearly fallen down when he and Jon had walked through Winterfell’s front door and he’d seen it there in the entryway. It had been his and Catelyn’s gift from all the children last Christmas and he’d promptly hung it in the most prominent place he could find. The kids had gone through their wedding album and picked out a photo of the two of them looking at each other with all the love and hope and promise of that day. They’d had an artist paint a huge portrait of it, and the woman had captured them perfectly. He wasn’t anything to look at. An ordinary man in a standard black tuxedo. But the beauty of the woman that man was looking at practically leapt off the canvas with her vibrant hair and eyes in that white dress that fit her lovely curves so perfectly. And she was looking at him. Looking at him like he was everything that she could ever want. And now . . .

“Yeah,” he heard Jon say. “That’s pretty much what you looked like when you saw it when we got here. The one and only time we came in through the front door.”

Ned looked at him. “This . . . this isn’t easy, Jon. It . . .” He realized he didn’t know what else to say. He had no words for what this was. The loss of the woman in that portrait, the loss of what they’d shared, what they’d promised each other the day that portrait was taken, was beyond words. 

“I know, Dad,” Jon said sadly. “It’s not easy for any of us. And I honestly don’t know how it happened. But looking at you right now, I sure don’t want Catelyn looking at that picture. It’s gotta be hard enough for her just coming here to drop off everybody and go home alone.”

Ned actually flinched at Jon’s words. He didn’t want to think about Catelyn alone on Christmas Eve. He didn’t want to think of her anywhere but here on Christmas Eve. _I never meant to cause her pain,_ he thought. _I only did what I had to do._ Yet, faced with the equally unimaginable options of taking that portrait off the wall or having its presence cause her even more distress, he couldn’t help but wonder if he could have done something differently. _I promised, Lya. I’ll not see him harmed._ He’d sworn to himself he’d never see any of his children harmed. Yet, it seemed he was the one hurting them.

“I’m taking it down, Dad,” Jon said when Ned didn’t speak. “It seems wrong. But leaving it up for her to see . . . seems cruel.”

Ned nodded silently, feeling like a coward for leaving that task for Jon but uncertain if he could actually do it. That seemed ridiculous. He could divorce the woman but not take her picture down? He realized Jon had left the kitchen after a moment and rose from his seat stiffly, wondering how long he’d been there. Slowly, he walked back out into the great room to the large bay window where he was stunned to see snow falling heavily. There had barely been flurries when they’d returned from the grocery store. Now the ground was already covered in white. He stood there watching it fall and praying that Cat and the kids were nearly to Winterfell. 

“Wow, it’s really coming down.”

Ned turned to see Jon standing behind him.

“I took care of it, Dad. I put it in one of the spare bedrooms.” He walked over to stand beside Ned, frowned, took his phone out, and began typing on it. After a moment, he spoke again. “Arya says they’re almost here, but they can only go at a crawl now. The road went from fine to non-existent really fast.”

“Catelyn’s driven in the snow here before. She’ll take good care of them,” Ned said as much to reassure himself as Jon.

“I know that. I’m sure she’ll get them here. But, Dad, if this stuff doesn’t slow down, I’m not so sure she’ll be able to leave.”

Ned turned to look at the boy he’d raised as his son and saw the concern in his face. “We’ll all do what needs done, Jon,” he said softly. “It will be all right.”

“You always do what needs to be done, Dad.”

Ned turned back to the window, staring out at the snow as his mind drifted once more into the past, hearing those same words spoken by Lyanna. _I know I can count on you, Ned. You always do what needs to be done._

“Are you okay, Dad?”

“I’m fine, son.” He turned to look at the boy once more, and just as he had all those years ago, Jon looked back at him with Lyanna’s grey eyes.

________________________________________________________________________

 

Catelyn’s knuckles were white from holding the steering wheel so tightly. The drive had been relatively easy until just under an hour ago when the snow started to fall. Then, within the last twenty minutes, they’d reached virtual whiteout conditions. She knew the sensible thing to do would be simply to pull over, but they were so close now. And spending hours on the side of the road in a blizzard in the nearly unpopulated countryside did not appeal to her. She needed to get her kids to Winterfell.

She kept her mind focused on that goal, refusing to think about what happened after that because it was becoming more and more obvious that getting there would likely be all she could do today, and the thought of staying five minutes, let alone overnight in a place that meant more to her than pretty much anywhere on earth knowing that she no longer belonged there was more painful than she could stand. _Just drive, Catelyn. Don’t think. Drive._

“I can’t see anything!” Rickon piped up from behind her. “How can you see, Mommy?” He’d started calling her ‘Mom’ most of the time a little over a year ago, mimicking his older siblings. But he’d been calling her ‘Mommy’ almost exclusively since Ned left.

“I can’t see very well, sweetling,” Catelyn admitted. “But I’m not going fast enough to get into any trouble, and I know the way to Winterfell well enough that seeing just a little bit is plenty! I’ve driven here about a million times,” she proclaimed with more confidence than she actually felt.

“Probably not a million,” Bran corrected. “That’s a really big number. And we only come here for Christmas and maybe four or five other times a year. So if you take all the years that you and Dad have been married, that would still only be . . . Ow!”

Glancing in the rearview mirror, Catelyn could see Bran glaring at Arya and rubbing his arm. She’d probably punched him for mentioning her and Ned being married. _We aren’t married anymore,_ she thought dully. “You’re right, Bran! I suppose that was a bit of a hyperbole.”

“What’s a hyperbole?” Rickon asked. “Is it like a blizzard? Cuz this looks like a blizzard.”

“No, it’s what you call it when someone exaggerates something a great deal. And this isn’t a blizzard,” she assured him.

“Exaggerating is lying,” Rickon said seriously. “And this looks like a blizzard.”

“Well, it isn’t, Rickon, but I do need to concentrate on driving. See if Arya or Bran will play with you.”

“What are we supposed to play?” her youngest whined. “We can’t play any finding games. We can’t see out of the car to even look for anything!”

“How bout we look for things inside the car?” Sansa asked brightly from beside Catelyn in the passenger seat. Robb had rather gallantly offered it to his sister, and he was sitting beside Rickon in the second row while Arya and Bran were in the back. “I spy with my little eye something . . . . blue!”

Rickon began shouting out any blue object he could see, and Catelyn found herself thinking about the blue winter roses at Winterfell. She’d always loved them, but now she couldn’t think about them without thinking of Ned’s tale of Lyanna. The tale she’d never have heard had Robb and Jon not participated in the school blood drive last spring. She remembered Robb tossing the mail down on the kitchen table and seeing two almost identical envelopes. “What’s this?” she’d asked him.

“I don’t know. It’s from the blood bank. Jon and I donated this year, remember?” He’d been too busy surveying the contents of the refrigerator to pay much attention. “Maybe it’s our report. They said we’d get something with the results of all the stuff they test our blood for. Like our blood type and any infections.” He shrugged as he shut the refrigerator and shoved about three pieces of deli ham in his mouth at once.

“Robb!” she’d admonished him, opening the letter with Robb’s name. “Oh, look! You’re B+ just like me!”

“Don’t I have to have your blood type?” he’d asked her, swallowing the giant mouthful of ham.

“Well, no. Although, in your case, you do have a better chance of type B than anything else. Your father is AB+ so you could get either an A or a B from him. With type B blood, I could either have two B genes or a B and an O. I happen to know I have a B and an O because your Grandpa Hoster is type O which means he can only have two O genes. So, from me you could get a B or an O. So for all you children, the possible combinations would be an A from Dad and a B from me which would make you type AB, or an A from Dad and an O from me which would make you type A.”

“Not type AO?” Robb had asked, now going through the pantry, apparently in search of more food.

“No. There is no type AO. The O gene is recessive. It only shows in your blood type if you have two of them. The A and B are both dominant. If you get one of those with an O gene, the A or B wins. If you get an A and a B, they tie. That’s how your father can have AB blood.”

“Mmm,” Robb had muttered, still paying more attention to the pantry than to the impromptu genetics lesson.

Rolling her eyes, Catelyn had continued. “Or if you got a B from Dad, it wouldn’t matter if you got a B or an O from me. You’d be type B either way. So you had two chances to be type B and one each to be A or AB. The only blood type you couldn’t possibly have is type O. See?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Robb had said, sounding fairly disinterested. He did take the paper out of her hand as he walked back by her. “B positive,” he laughed. "Sounds more like a pep talk than a blood type. As long as it doesn’t say I’m diseased or anything, I guess it’s all good.” 

Catelyn had shaken her head as he walked out of the kitchen laughing, forgetting the rest of the mail on the table as Bran and Rickon had both run in asking if they could have snacks. She’d forgotten about the mail until she had to clear it off the table to set it for dinner, and that’s when she’d opened Jon’s report and discovered something that couldn’t be. “Oh, no. They’ve made some sort of mistake,” she’d murmured. 

“Who’s made a mistake?” 

She’d looked up to see her husband walk into the kitchen. “You’re home earlier than I expected!” she’d exclaimed with a smile, accepting the kiss he gave her. “Dinner isn’t quite ready.”

“No worries. I’m just glad I had a fairly easy day for once! And who made a mistake?”

“Oh!” She looked down at the report she still held in her hand. “The blood bank. They’ve got Jon’s blood type wrong.”

“Do you know Jon’s blood type?” he’d asked her.

“No. I don’t think any of the kids have had their blood typed, but this report says Jon has type O+. That’s impossible, Ned. You’re AB+ so Jon can’t have type O.”

He’d looked almost panicked, but quickly shrugged and turned away. “I’m sure it’s nothing, Cat. Just a clerical error of some sort.”

“I’m going to call them.”

“Why would you do that?” he’d nearly demanded, whirling around. 

“Because if they’ve made an error on this report, what if they’ve also mislabeled the blood he donated? You can’t give someone the wrong type blood, Ned. It could kill them! I’m rather upset that they could make such a mistake, and I’m certain they’d want to know about it.”

“I don’t think it’s that big a deal.”

“Well, I do!”

“Maybe it isn’t a mistake. Maybe his mother had type O. I have no way of knowing.”

She’d frowned at him. “Ned. Didn’t you pay any attention in science class back in school? It doesn’t matter what type her blood was. As long as yours is AB+, none of your children can be type O. And you are most definitely AB+. It’s on all your military records.”

“I . . . I guess there is some sort of mix-up. But the blood bank is probably closed for the day. We’ll worry about it later. Would you like me to set the table?”

He’d seemed very strange, but she’d written it off to hunger. Ned was nearly as bad as the boys when it came to needing food to be content. They’d eaten dinner, and she’d honestly forgotten about Jon’s obviously erroneous report until she and Ned were lying in bed that night. “Remind me to call the blood bank tomorrow,” she’d said sleepily. “You’ll be here with me because it’s Thursday.”

“I’ll take care of it,” he’d said brusquely.

“I thought you said it wasn’t a big deal,” she’d teased him. He hadn’t laughed. He wouldn’t even look at her. “Ned, what’s wrong with you? You’ve been strange all evening.”

He’d told her she was imagining things. He’d actually gotten quite nasty at one point. But she knew him well, and she’d known something was wrong so she’d kept at him until he’d finally nearly exploded. “It isn’t a mistake! Jon’s blood type isn’t a mistake, Cat!” He’d gone utterly silent then, staring at her with actual fear in his eyes, and she’d stared back, slowly realizing what he was saying, realizing the only way this couldn’t be a mistake.

“You’ve been lying to me,” she’d said very slowly and quietly. “All this time. Why would you ever tell such a lie? Who is he?”

Arya’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Jon texted. He wanted to check on us. I told him we’re good and we’ll be there soon.”

The SUV hit a pretty big bump just then, and Catelyn told herself she really shouldn’t dwell on such terrible memories while driving in dangerous conditions. She needed to focus on the road, not on the night that her solid, honest marriage was revealed to be a sham. Her shock had given way fairly rapidly to anger as Ned began haltingly to tell the whole story. Or perhaps it wasn’t the whole story. Ned was a liar so she couldn’t be certain. That’s what she told herself, although truthfully she believed everything he’d told her. That didn’t make it hurt any less that he’d not believed her trustworthy enough to protect his nephew. She didn’t give a damn what he’d promised Lyanna. Lyanna didn’t know her. Ned did. Ned was her husband, the man who’d promised to love and cherish her, the one person she never hid anything from. He should have come home with that child and immediately told her all of it, let her help him deal with the impossible burden Lyanna had placed on him. But he didn’t trust her. That’s what it boiled down to. Ned had explained that Lyanna Stark was so convinced that the remaining Targaryens would come after her child if they learned about him that she was willing to disappear forever and never see him again in order to keep him safe. Catelyn, angry as she was, had suggested that perhaps Lyanna simply hadn’t wanted to be bothered with a child, and Ned was her easy out. That had infuriated him. Neither of them had slept that night. There’d been tears and questions and explanations and arguments and accusations until dawn. But neither of them had left the room. Even in the midst of having everything she thought about her marriage turned upside down, Catelyn hadn’t realized she was witnessing the beginning of the end of it. Because they didn’t walk away from each other. That’s something they had never done. And through all the confused and angry weeks that followed, she hadn’t really believed they ever could. Until Ned proved her wrong in August.

“Look closely, kids,” Catelyn said now. You can see the walls ahead. We’re nearly at the gate.”

“Yay!” Rickon shouted.

“Arya,” Robb said suddenly. “Did Jon say anything about . . . I mean, did you ask him . . .”

Catelyn didn’t have to turn around to know Arya rolled her eyes. “You can text Jon yourself, if you like. It’s not like I’m the only one who has a cell phone.”

“Arya,” Sansa said warningly.

“What?” Arya demanded. “Robb needs to grow up and ask people what he wants to know himself. But yeah, it’s all okay. And yeah, I got it from Jon, too. Not just Dad.”

“What on earth are you all talking about?” Catelyn asked.

“Nothing!” replied everyone else in the car immediately except for Rickon.

“It’s nothing, Mom,” Sansa said in a falsely bright voice that Catelyn recognized far too well due to its similarity to her own voice more often than she’d like these days. “Sometimes Dad is hard to talk to, that’s all. So we ask Jon things instead. And we all have a bad habit of expecting Arya to ask him because she lives there, and it’s just easier.”

She knew Sansa was trying to reassure her, but somehow hearing one of her daughters express the opinion that her other daughter “lived” with Ned and Jon instead of with them was not comforting in the least. Also, she was reasonably certain they were all still trying to keep something from her, and she hated that. Still, she decided to let it go. She had no need of anything else to worry about at the moment. “The gates are open,” she said, and she carefully navigated the big vehicle through those gates onto the grounds of Winterfell.

“Is it Christmas Eve now?” Rickon asked.

“No, Rickon, we came early to beat the snow,” Robb answered. Then he laughed. “I don’t think that worked too well, though.”

“So when is Christmas Eve?” 

“In two days, sweetling,” Catelyn replied. “On Sunday.”

Rickon was quiet just a moment, and Catelyn concentrated on picking out what looked like the easiest path up to the house. She could care less whether she stayed on the drive now. It couldn’t be clearly identified at the moment anyway. She’d drive straight up the yard to the house if it would get her away from here more quickly. Her heart had started racing as soon as she’d entered the gates. Winterfell. The Stark family manor. She’d been married here. She’d spent holidays and long weekends and countless pleasant hours here. And she would never do that again. She no longer belonged here. That stupid piece of paper still lying on her desk back home severed her from this place as surely as it severed her from her husband. _He’s not my husband anymore._

“So if Christmas Eve is on Sunday, and Sunday is in two days, that makes it Friday, right?” came Rickon’s voice.

“Yes, Rickon,” said several people at once. They were working on days, weeks, and months in the first grade, and Rickon was rather obsessed with the whole subject at the moment.

“Does that mean she’ll be here with Daddy? I don’t want her here. I want Mommy!” Rickon shouted suddenly.

All of the other kids started shushing him, but Arya was the loudest. “No, Rickon! She’s not here, okay? This is Winterfell, and she doesn’t come here. So just . . . be quiet already!”

Rickon started to cry, and everyone got deathly silent, and Catelyn finally understood what the children had been talking about. They had honestly wondered if Ned had brought Ashara Dayne here. Knowing that they even considered it a possibility made her feel ill. And angry. Winterfell was her place, not Ashara Dayne’s! _It isn’t your place anymore._

She pulled the car to a stop about thirty feet from the house. She could see a narrow indentation in the snow where someone had obviously tried to shovel a path. It had been covered over again, but at least the snow wasn’t as deep there.

“We’ll have to hoof it from here,” she said. “Don’t worry about the bags. Just run to the house as best you can, and I’ll bring Rickon. Your dad and Jon can help with the bags in a bit.”

None of them moved. “Mom,” Arya finally said. “I’m sorry I yelled at Rickon. I just didn’t want . . . she’s not here. Dad promised.”

Catelyn took a deep breath. “It’s none of my business whom your father invites to Winterfell, Arya, but as this is supposed to be a family Christmas for all of you, and none of you seems to want anyone extra, I’m glad it will only be Starks. Now, go on. Get to the house.”

“It won’t really be a family Christmas without you, Mom,” Sansa said softly before pulling on her coat and opening the door to brave the snow. 

Catelyn pulled on her own coat and stepped out into the heavy snow. At least the wind wasn’t bad at the moment. She walked around to the other side of the car and climbed into the second row beside Rickon after the others got out. He wasn’t truly crying anymore, but he was still sniffling. “I don’t want you to go, Mommy,” he said.

“Oh, baby, it’s all right. You’ll have so much fun with Daddy and all your brothers and sisters. And Santa Claus will come.”

“In two days,” Rickon said solemnly, holding up two fingers.

Catelyn smiled. “Yes, darling, in two days.” 

“I’m gonna ask Santa to make Daddy and Jon come back home. I’m gonna stay up and see him when he comes down the chimney, and I’ll ask him then.”

Rickon swore he’d stay up and catch Santa Claus every year, but this year his specific goal made Catelyn want to cry harder than he’d cried a few moments ago. “Let’s go inside, Rickon,” she said.

“Hey, do you need a hand with our wild pup?”

The deep voice startled her. She turned to see Ned standing right behind her, no hat on his head, of course. The idiot man never wore a hat regardless of how cold or snowy it was, but he was wearing the deep grey coat she loved so much because it brought out the color of his eyes. She hadn’t actually been this close to him since they’d stood in the judge’s chamber signing the things that would allow the dissolution of their marriage. She felt like she couldn’t breathe.

“Cat? Would you like me to carry him?”

“Thanks,” she managed to whisper. He didn’t move though. He kept looking at her, and she didn’t know whether she wanted him to continue doing it or to stop right away. She watched the muscles in his jaw and neck move as he swallowed.

“Cat,” he said again. Whatever he intended to say after that was interrupted by Rickon.

“Daddy! Come get me out! We can race Mommy!”

Catelyn had already unbuckled the child, and Ned easily hoisted him into his arms and then put him on his back. “Are you ready, Mommy?” Ned asked Catelyn, a small smile on his face. “On your mark . . .”

Rickon chimed in with his father on “Get set! Go!” and then Catelyn found herself running through snow that was honestly too deep to run in, and laughing in spite of herself as she chased after Ned who had Rickon. She arrived at the front door just behind them and was greeted by Rickon’s singsong voice chanting “We beat Mommy! We beat Mommy!” The grin on his face made her forget everything else for one brief moment.

But the next moment was shattered by Arya’s voice shouting, “What the heck, Dad? What did you do with the picture?!?” 

Catelyn looked around and found her dark haired girl glaring at a space on the wall in front of them. It took her a moment to process what she was seeing, or more precisely, to recall what she wasn’t seeing. Ned had been here only three days, and he’d already taken down their wedding portrait—the beautiful painting the kids had spent too much money on just the year before. She supposed it was stupid to expect him to hang on to a wedding portrait of a wedding that was now moot, but it still hurt. In spite of all he’d done, she’d honestly believed this was hurting him just as it was hurting her. But her children had feared Ashara Dayne would be here and now her wedding portrait was gone. It seemed Ned was managing to cut her out of his life much more cleanly than she could cut him out of hers.

She didn’t realize she was just standing there staring at the empty wall or that there were suddenly tears in her eyes until Ned spoke. “Cat . . . Catelyn, I’m sorry. I didn’t . . .”

“Excuse me,” she said quickly and walked past him. She needed to get away from them all. To get on the road away from this place. To get far, far away from Ned because being this close hurt too much. She was nearly running by the time she reached the stairs and realized to her dismay that she was heading for her bedroom. Only it wasn’t hers anymore. It was now Ned’s alone. _Or not alone,_ whispered a cruel voice in her head. At that thought, she covered her mouth with her hand and broke into a run without any pretense all the way to the guest bedroom at the end of the hall.

__________________________________________________________________________________

 

“And a Merry Fucking Christmas to everybody!”

Robb’s muttered exclamation as he angrily left the entryway himself broke the silence that had fallen in the wake of Catelyn’s departure. 

Ned wanted to call out to his son, but he didn’t know what to say. He still had Rickon on his back, and his youngest began squirming to get down. “Where’s Mommy and Robb going? Why are people yelling?”

“It’s all right, Rickon,” Ned said almost mindlessly, pulling the boy around to hold him where he could see his face. The blue eyes that stared back into his were brimming with tears. “It’ll be all right,” he repeated.

“You shouldn’t lie to children. It’s cruel.” Arya was no longer shouting, but the cold anger in her voice chilled Ned far more than the snow still in his hair.

“Arya!” Sansa gasped, her voice sounding broken. “Don’t. Please don’t.”

Nearly frozen in place by his second daughter’s accusatory glare, he spoke to Sansa. “Sansa, can you take Rickon in to see the tree, please?” When she didn’t respond, he turned to look at her and saw that she had tears silently running down her cheeks.

“I’ll take him,” Bran piped up. When Ned looked at him, Bran wouldn’t meet his father’s eyes, keeping his own eyes on Rickon instead. “Come on, Rick. Let’s go see if Dad got all the ornaments where we like them.”

Rickon allowed Ned to put him down and took his brother’s hand without saying a word. As the boys walked on into the great room, Ned found himself standing there in front of the empty wall with his two daughters, one a silent portrait of fury and the other of heartbreak. “Girls . . .” he started.

“Save it, Dad,” Arya interrupted before he could speak. “We all know you wanted your girlfriend here, and Mom wasn’t supposed to come at all, but . . .” she shook her head back and forth and Ned was startled to see tears in her eyes now. Arya never cried easily in front of anyone. “But . . . you can’t just pretend you were never married! We all exist, you know! Robb, Sansa, Bran, Rickon, and me. We exist because you were married. And we gave you that picture because . . . because you’re our parents and this is our home, just as much as the house in King’s Landing is our home. And you can’t just throw everything away no matter what Mom did to make you mad because . . . she’s our mom, and I don’t give two shits if fucking Ashara doesn’t want to look at her picture when you bring her here. This is _our_ house and Mom is _our _mother, and you can’t erase her. You can’t!”__

__Tears were actually falling down Arya’s face when she finished speaking, and Sansa moved to put her arms around her younger sister. Arya surprisingly allowed it, and Ned stood there helplessly mute watching his two girls who could scarcely hold a civil conversation on far too many days hold each other for the comfort they could not seek from him._ _

__“Dad . . . I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I . . . didn’t think . . . I just . . .”_ _

__Ned realized that Jon had appeared in the entryway. He must have taken the kids’ coats to put away while Catelyn and he were running in with Rickon. Now he stood there with a stricken expression, stammering an apology._ _

__“It isn’t your fault, Jon,” he said softly._ _

__“Of course it isn’t Jon’s fault!” Arya said, pulling herself out of Sansa’s embrace to defend her favorite brother._ _

__“It could be worse, Arya.” Robb’s voice dripped with sarcasm as he walked up to them, apparently having followed Jon. “I mean, at least he just took down the portrait. I’m surprised he didn’t replace it with that stupid picture from his Christmas party at work.”_ _

_Oh god._ Ned knew the picture Robb meant, but he hadn’t known any of his children except were aware of it. He’d drunk entirely too much at the damn company party two weeks ago. It was the first time he’d ever been to a Baratheon International social event without Catelyn, and that was difficult enough. Dealing with everyone there treating him with sympathy and wary concern as if he might suddenly kill himself or something had been impossible. He’d made a fool of himself, getting too shit-faced to drive home. Robert, not wanting to put him in a cab or leave his own party, had called Ashara to come fetch him. Some idiot had snapped a photo of the two of them as they were leaving. He’d had his arms around her, holding on for balance, and an idiotic grin on his face. Why she’d put her head on his shoulder for the stupid picture, he didn’t know, but Robert had texted it to both of them the next day, and while Ashara thought it was funny, he found it ridiculous and embarrassing. 

“He deleted that picture!” Jon said desperately. “Nobody wants it! But this is my fault!” He’d been looking from person to person, but now he turned specifically toward Robb. “That’s what I was trying to tell you. Dad didn’t take the portrait down. I did.” 

Robb stared at Jon for a few moments as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, and then fury began to darken his blue eyes. “Jesus, Jon! Do you really hate my mother that much? Do you like making her cry?” 

_Do you hate him so much, Cat? Do you truly want to cause him pain?_ Robb’s words to his brother were a painful echo of Ned’s own words to his wife. Of course, Robb couldn’t be more wrong about Jon. _And what about you? Could you have been wrong?_ a small voice whispered in his head. 

“No, Robb! That’s not it!” 

“I can’t believe you’d do that, Jon! Not to us!” Arya exclaimed. “I don’t blame you for being mad at her, but . . . it was gift from _us!_ You know what it means to _us!_ ” 

“Everyone, be quiet,” Ned insisted, finding his voice at last and using it to issue a command. He wondered where his younger boys were. Bran had been known to listen in on conversations. He hoped concern for Rickon was keeping him away. Robb, Sansa, and Arya all looked very unhappy with him, and poor Jon looked utterly miserable, but they remained silent. 

“First of all,” he said, endeavoring to keep his voice calm and steady. “Nothing about this is easy for any of us. I realize that all of you are hurt and angry, and I don’t blame you. You have every right to be. But whether you believe it or not, what is happening now does not in any way ‘erase’ or ‘throw away’ the years of my marriage to your mother. I couldn’t ever do that, and I wouldn’t want to. Ending a marriage hurts. Even if it is necessary.” 

“But why is it . . .” Arya almost whined. 

“I told you to be quiet,” Ned said more harshly than he intended. “Please,” he added more softly. “When I walked into this house and saw that portrait, I . . .” he shook his head and tried to find the words. “I saw every good moment I’d spent in this house with your mother, and I felt like I’d been hit in the gut. And I haven’t used the front door since. But I intended to leave it there because I wanted this house to feel like home for you children this Christmas.” 

“But why would Jon . . .” 

“Arya . . .” Ned said warningly. “When we learned that Catelyn intended to drive you up because of the storm, Jon reminded me of my reaction to the portrait. He thought it would be hard enough for your mother to drive here and leave all of you without having to look at a portrait given to us by all of you to celebrate a marriage that . . . that . . .” He found himself unable to say the words ‘is over.’ 

“Oh, Daddy,” Sansa said softly, speaking for the first time since she’d tried to shush Arya earlier. More tears had appeared in her eyes, but she turned to Jon and said, “It was a kind thought, Jon, even if it didn’t . . .” She shrugged. “I’d better go see if Mom’s okay.” 

“No,” Ned said softly. “You children go find your little brothers. Get something to drink . . . or . . . something. I should talk to Cat.” 

“I don’t think she wants to talk to you,” Robb said. His voice remained rather cold, and Ned recalled his referencing that Christmas party photo as well as Jon’s earlier assertion that all of his older children were thoroughly convinced he was romantically involved with Ashara Dayne. 

“She probably doesn’t, Robb. But she and I can’t avoid each other for the rest of our lives. We share five children whom we both love dearly. We have to learn to communicate better . . . in this new situation.” Robb snorted at that phrase. “For what it’s worth, Robb . . . and Arya and Sansa . . . I do not have a girlfriend. Ashara and I dated and broke up before I ever met your mother, and while she has been a very good friend to me when I needed one, I am not now and do not intend to become romantically involved with her again.” 

Robb only rolled his eyes, and Arya said, “We saw the picture, Dad!” 

“Yes, and I’d like to know where you saw it. I told Robert I didn’t find it amusing, and he promised to delete it from his phone and make certain the idiot who took it had deleted it as well. I’m not very proud of it, but it isn’t what you seem to think.” He took a deep breath. “I was miserable at that party, and I got drunker than I’d been in a very long time.” Admitting such a thing to his children did not come easily at all. Ashara had told Jon about it, showing him the picture and laughing about it. She’d been rather surprised that Jon didn’t find it as funny as she did. She always had taken a less serious view of life than Ned did. It was one of the reasons they hadn’t lasted as a couple. “So drunk that I could barely walk,” he added, shaking his head. 

“Oh . . . so it doesn’t count if you fool around when you’re drunk, then?” Robb challenged. 

“No! I mean, yes! Intoxication does not excuse behavior. I’ve told all of you that since you were old enough to understand the word intoxication! I mean that I wasn’t ‘fooling around’ with Ashara or anyone. She was quite literally helping me walk. She wasn’t even at that party. Robert called her to pick me up and drive me home because God knows I couldn’t drive myself anywhere!” 

“But you invited her to Christmas,” Arya said in a very small voice. 

“And I was wrong to do that,” Ned said immediately. “But I only invited her because I’ve never really done Christmas. Your mother does it all. I can’t cook. I don’t know the words to all those carols. I didn’t even know where most of the decorations were. You can thank Jon for those.” He shook his head. “I was afraid I’d mess everything up if I tried it by myself. And I’ve messed up enough for you children already.” 

No one contradicted him on that, but after a moment, Sansa said, “Daddy, I don’t know what happened between you and Mom. None of us know, and we all hate it. But . . . you’re still our dad. And . . . well, we’d rather have a messed up Christmas with you than some fake, made-up Christmas with a stranger. And I know Ashara’s not really a stranger—she’s at your place every Friday we are, but . . . it’s like Arya said. She isn’t our family. I don’t care if you can’t cook, Dad. If I can’t have Christmas with you _and_ Mom, then I want it with just you _or_ Mom.” She smiled at him. “Even if I have to eat Lucky Charms or pizza rolls for Christmas Eve dinner!” 

“Lesson learned,” he said, reaching for her and thanking God when she came into his arms to hug him. Other than Rickon’s piggy-back ride and Bran’s exuberant hug when he’d bounded in the door as Ned was putting on his coat to go out to the car, it was the first time any of his children had touched him since their arrival. “Now, go on and find the little boys. I need to find your mother.” 

Arya didn’t actually smile at him, but she did stop scowling. “You know Bran hates that, don’t you? Being lumped in with Rickon. If he hears you call him a ‘little boy’, he’ll point out that he’s closer to my age than Rick’s.” 

“I need to apologize to Catelyn, Dad,” Jon said. 

“I’ll tell her what happened, Jon. I need to speak with her alone. Go with your brother and sisters, please.” 

Jon nodded, and they all finally left the entry hall. As Ned turned to go up the stairs in search of Catelyn, Arya called after him. 

“Oh, Dad! You asked where we saw that picture. I found it on Mom’s phone. Cersei Baratheon sent it to her.” She gave him a rather challenging look and then turned to follow her siblings, leaving Ned standing on the staircase, feeling rather off balance. 

How the hell had Robert’s ex-wife gotten that photo? She hadn’t even been at the party. Had Robert drunk texted her? He couldn’t imagine what Catelyn thought after listening to all the angry innuendo and accusations from his children. Of course, a small angry part of him insisted he didn’t care what Catelyn thought. Not after what he’d learned from Rickon just this past weekend. 

“Daddy, is it ever okay to punch somebody?” the little boy had asked him in bed Saturday night. Rickon generally ended up in his bed when he stayed with him. Sometimes he had nightmares, and he’d wake in a panic. Ned would simply hold onto him and talk about random things until his son felt safe enough to fall asleep again. But after his nightmare Saturday, Rickon had wanted to talk about something very specific. 

“Well, it is never a good thing to hit someone first, Rickon. If someone is hurting you, though, and you have no other way to make them stop, then yes—it is okay to defend yourself,” he’d replied. 

Rickon had turned his back to him then, but remained snuggled up against him. He was silent for so long, Ned thought he had fallen back to sleep, but then he said quietly. “What if somebody’s doing something they shouldn’t, and you can’t make them stop unless you punch them?” 

“Rickon,” Ned had said slowly. “Did you punch someone recently? Another child at school?” 

“No,” Rickon had answered. “I didn’t hit anybody at all this week. Not even Walder.” He paused. “I wanted to hit Walder a couple times, but I didn’t want to lose recess.” 

Ned knew the boy in question, and privately felt Rickon was likely justified in wanting to hit him, but had decided not to voice that opinion. “I’m proud of you for making the smart choice,” he’d said instead. 

He’d felt Rickon shrug. “Walder’s just dumb. I can ignore him if I try.” Rickon had stretched then, and said, “But I’m gonna . . .” The rest of his sentence was swallowed by a yawn. 

“What was that Rickon?” 

“I said I’m gonna punch Mr. Bolton the next time he kisses Mommy.” 

Stunned by that unexpected sentence, Ned had lain there unable to speak for some time. By the time he’d asked, “The next time Mr. Bolton does what, Rickon?” his son’s deep, even breathing made it clear he was sound asleep. 

Ned forcibly pushed that particular memory from his mind. He didn’t need to be dwelling on that when he spoke with his wife. My soon-to-be ex-wife, he thought. And not for the first time, he wondered just how everything had gone to hell so quickly. And wondered about the cost of promises. 

She wasn’t in their bedroom. He was rather grateful for that as he knew damn well he wasn’t prepared to see her there. He finally found her in the little bedroom at the end of the hall. The door had been shut and he’d opened it after knocking softly and receiving no reply. She was sitting on the edge of the bed and staring at a portrait propped up against wall. Their wedding portrait. She wasn’t crying, but he could tell she had been. 

“Catelyn?” he said softly. 

She bit her lip and then responded without looking toward him. “Forgive me for making a scene. I assure you I did not intend to interfere with your Christmas with the children.” Her best lady of the manor voice. He’d heard it used on enough people to recognize it. Polite, but distant. Civil and respectful, but not warm. Not cold, either. Just . . . formal. And while he’d been endlessly entertained by the skill with which she wielded it on deserving people through the years, it broke his heart to realize he had now become one of those people. 

“It wasn’t your fault. I’ve put you in a terrible position today, and I apologize for that.” 

She did look at him then. “You aren’t responsible for the weather.” 

“No,” he said. “But I am responsible for a great many things, and I am sorry for all of them.” 

“Not all,” she whispered. “Please don’t say you’re sorry for all of them. After all, you’re at least fifty percent responsible for those five wonderful people I’ve likely just terrified to death, and I wouldn’t have you be sorry for that.” 

“No, Cat. I’ll never be sorry for our children,” he answered just as softly. “And you didn’t terrify them. They were all prepared to murder me on your account, but they’re more sad and angry than frightened. And that’s more my doing than yours.” 

“I’m not going to have that argument, Ned--who’s at fault for what. None of it matters anyway.” She stood up and turned to face him completely. “They are frightened, though. All that anger is just covering up their fear. And it’s up to both of us to make them feel safe. I’ll go down and talk to them so they know I’m all right, and then I’d better get going. If the roads get any worse, I won’t be able to make it out.” 

“About that,” Ned said hesitantly. “I’m not certain your leaving now is such . . .” 

She was interrupted by Jon bursting into the room. “Oh!” he exclaimed upon seeing the two of them standing there. “I’m sorry! I just . . . Arya wanted me to put it back, and I . . .” He gestured sort of helplessly toward the portrait. 

“Jon,” Catelyn said firmly, but not unkindly, “This is your father’s home, and he can decorate it as he pleases. I’ll talk to Arya.” 

“No! I mean, Dad didn’t take it down, Catelyn!” Jon stopped speaking then long enough to take a deep breath. “I did.” 

Ned could see the surprise on his wife’s face at those words, and he quickly interjected. “Tell her why, Jon.” 

“Ned, he doesn’t have to . . .” 

“I didn’t want you to have to look at it,” Jon said quickly. When Catelyn didn’t respond, he added, “When Dad came in and saw it first thing, I could tell it . . . hurt. And when he told me you were bringing everybody here, I just . . . I just didn’t think it was fair to make you look at it and then just leave. I’m sorry. I was wrong.” 

Catelyn turned and looked sadly at the portrait for a moment before turning back to Jon. “It isn’t your fault, Jon. It was a kind thought. And it was as right as it was wrong. It does hurt to look at something that’s gone.” She sighed. “I don’t suppose there is a right way to handle that particular portrait this year.” She turned toward Ned. “Perhaps you should simply put it away for safekeeping, Ned. One of the children might like to have it someday.” 

“I’m still sorry. I never meant . . .” Jon started. 

“Jon,” Catelyn interrupted. “None of this is your fault. It never was. Do you understand me? You are not to blame for this or for anything that’s ever occurred between your father and myself. We’re grownups. We can mess things up all by ourselves without any help from our children.” 

Jon nodded, and Catelyn started toward the door. 

“Cat . . . wait,” Ned said suddenly. “Jon, I’d like to speak to Catelyn alone for a moment, please.” 

“Ned, I have to see the kids and get going.” 

“Just one moment. Please.” 

he sighed again. “Jon? Will you please tell them I’ll be right down?” 

Jon nodded, and all but bolted from the room. 

“Poor boy,” Catelyn said when he was gone. “Now I feel really terrible about my reaction.” 

“It isn’t your fault any more than it is his,” Ned said simply. 

“So what do you need to talk to me about?” Her voice had sounded much more like her own for awhile, but the lady of the manor was back now. 

“I . . . I just want you to know that . . . I’m not involved with anyone. Romantically, I mean.” 

Her eyebrows raised nearly to her hairline, and he watched the anger flash in those blue eyes just as it had in Robb’s downstairs. “You do not have to answer to me for your actions any longer, Eddard Stark. Your life is your own, and the company you keep is your business. I won’t say a word against anything you do as long as it doesn’t harm our children. But for God’s sake, do me the courtesy of not lying to my face!” 

“Lying? Catelyn, I’m not lying. I’m just trying to explain that . . .” 

“That you accused me of callously disregarding the safety of a seventeen year old boy and left our home in anger without telling me or anyone where you were going? Arya only found out because Jon texted her, you know. And other than dropping Arya at my doorstep after she all but chased you there, you didn’t call anyone or set foot in our house for two weeks while you remained holed up with your ‘former’ lover. Is that what you’d like to explain, Ned? Because for the life of me, I don’t understand it! I never thought that you could simply cut me out of your life that completely so quickly and simply pick back up with Ashara as if we’d never met. It doesn’t make sense to me.” 

“Because that isn’t what I did! That’s what I’m trying to tell you!” He realized he was shouting, and took a deep breath to lower his voice. “I was angry, Catelyn, and scared. You kept insisting that Jon had to know the truth, and I couldn’t make you see . . . or care . . . how dangerous that would be. For Jon and for all of us! You wouldn’t listen!” 

“You obviously weren’t listening to me, either! And maybe if you had called or sent a text or a goddamn email or something, I’d have tried to listen then, but you didn’t. You disappeared from our lives for two damn weeks, Ned. And if it hadn’t been for Jon’s texts to Robb and Arya, we wouldn’t have known if you were alive or dead.” There were tears shining in her furious blue eyes now. 

“I was . . . I was a mess. I had nowhere to go, and I didn’t know what to say to you, and I couldn’t let you tell Jon, and . . .” 

“You thought I was going to tell Jon? That’s hardly my place, Ned! But I stand by my assertion that the boy deserves to know who he is. What his mother did for him. And if there’s danger involved, then . . .” 

“There _is_ danger involved! Why won’t you just hear that? You get an idea in your head and you just . . .” 

“I get an idea in my head? You never let anything go. Ever! You kept this from me for nearly our entire marriage, Ned! You swore you loved me. Even after you were forced to tell me the truth, you kept swearing you loved me, all the while trying to justify keeping this from me on the basis of a promise? A promise to do what, Ned? Love Jon with all your heart? Protect him from harm? Keep him hidden from those who could and would harm him? You could have done all of that without lying to me, you know. We could have protected him together.” Her voice had started off rather loudly, but was almost a whisper by the end. 

“You don’t understand. I promised Lyanna that . . .” 

“You promised me ‘Til death do us part’, so don’t start in on promises again. I need no more reminders that I mean less to you than Lyanna or Jon. And if I ever do need reminding, I’ll just recall how quickly you ran back to Ashara Dayne.” 

Ned wanted to grab her and shake her. She was so wrong about everything, and being so unfair. How could she possibly believe that anyone meant more to him than she did? “It’s always been that, hasn’t it? You could never let go of your resentment over Jon and your irrational jealousy of his mother. Knowing that his mother is my own sister who gave him up so that I might protect him can’t even change that, can it? It’s still a competition in your eyes. Who do I love more?” 

She looked as if he’d struck her, and they stood there staring at each other for a moment. “If that’s truly what you think, then I’m afraid you know me as little as I know you. I’m leaving now. I know you didn’t want me here, and I know perfectly well that you invited Ms. Dayne. Our children aren’t as good at keeping things from me as they think they are. You’re entitled to your own life, Ned, but I would ask that you take their feelings into consideration. They aren’t quite as ready to see you with someone else as you are ready to be with someone else. Please try to give them a little space and time.” Her voice shook, and there was nothing formal about her now. She was honestly pleading with him not to hurt their children for the sake of his love life. His non-existent love life. 

“Cat,” he said, looking down. “I know you don’t believe me, but I only asked Ashara to come because I didn’t . . . I wasn’t sure that . . .” He struggled to find the words to make her understand. He looked up at her and found her glaring at him, obviously prepared to contradict whatever he had to say with her own false impressions, and his anger returned. “You know what,” he said. “Never mind. You’re right. We’re both entitled to live our lives without explaining ourselves to each other. So, rest assured that when I actually do become involved with someone new, I will always put the needs of our children first. And I would ask you to do the same regarding Roose Bolton!” 

“Roose Bolton?!” she nearly shrieked, managing to look entirely shocked. 

Before he could respond, there was a knock at the door again. “Dad? Catelyn? I’m really sorry, but Rickon’s crying now, and he won’t settle down.” 

_Oh dear god,_ Ned thought. _Please don’t let them have heard us._

“I’m coming now, Jon,” Catelyn said, not looking away from Ned. “Your father and I have said all we need to say.” She then turned on her heel and nearly collided with Jon as she opened the door to go out. 

“I’m sorry,” Jon said miserably. “But Robb said something about how if you didn’t leave right now, he wasn’t going to let you leave at all, and then Rickon started crying that he doesn’t want you to go, and . . .” 

“I’ll take care of him,” she said, having barely slowed down to hear what he had to say. 

“Jon?” Ned called weakly when she was gone. “Could you . . . hear us? Downstairs, I mean?” 

“Downstairs?” Jon said pointedly. “No. You weren’t that loud. But I could hear you outside the door. Roose Bolton, Dad? Seriously? Are you insane? Catelyn barely tolerates the man!” 

“Rickon saw them kissing,” Ned insisted, realizing with some amount of shame that he sounded rather like a petulant child of Rickon’s age. 

“He saw . . . oh.” Jon’s stunned expression had become suddenly very thoughtful. 

“What?” Ned asked him. “You know something about this, don’t you?” 

Jon shook his head. “Not really. Not about what Rickon may or may not have seen. But you definitely know nothing about it. If I were you, I’d talk to Arya about Roose Bolton before you make a fool of yourself in front of Catelyn again.” 

“A fool of myself? I don’t think . . .” 

“Dad? I don’t want to hear any of this, okay?” 

Jon looked thoughtful again, and Ned began to wonder what else he might have heard through the door. “How long were you out there, Jon?” he asked. 

“I don’t listen in on other people’s conversations. I knocked as soon as I got to the door. I think I heard you say something about Ashara before you brought up Mr. Creepy, but I already told you that everyone thinks you’re sleeping with her. Maybe now you believe me.” 

He sighed heavily. “I’m afraid you were right on that count, Jon. Go on downstairs. I’ll be there in a moment. I promise.” 

Jon left, and Ned sat down on the bed staring at the portrait just as Cat had been doing when he’d first come in. They looked so young. So hopeful. So much in love. He remembered how the two of them could talk for hours then about anything. There was nothing he couldn’t tell her. Now, they couldn’t speak for five minutes without hurling accusations at each other. He put his face in his hands for a moment, once more wondering how they’d gotten here, and then got up to look out the window. The snow hadn’t slowed. If anything, it was coming down harder now. There was no way she could drive out of here in this. He wouldn’t let her. Not that she’d listen to him if he tried to say that. 

Sighing, he headed downstairs, determined not to allow his wife to literally kill herself in her desperation to be away from him. 

He was met on the stairs by both of his daughters coming up. 

“Dad!” Arya said, sounding suspiciously happy. “Mom’s staying! She actually made Robb walk out to the car with her and prove it couldn’t go anywhere, but the thing’s so buried already, there’s no way she’s getting out!” 

Well, that was one worry he could put aside then. 

“We’re going up to put the camp bed into my room,” Sansa volunteered. “Mom said she was going to sleep in the guest room, but I told her she is NOT a guest here. It’s her house, too!” His usually conciliatory daughter looked at him as if daring him to challenge that assertion. He did not. “So, we told her she has to have a sleepover in my room! Mom and I can share the bed. It’s plenty big enough! And Arya wants in on it, too, so she volunteered to take the camp bed!” 

“Mom’s not going to be by herself in Winterfell,” Arya added rather fiercely. 

“Good. That’s good, girls. I was just on my way down to tell her that I thought driving back tonight was a terrible idea. Maybe the roads will be cleared sometime tomorrow.” 

“And maybe they won’t be,” Arya said, and the expression on her entirely Stark face was her mother’s—the expression Cat wore when she was just daring you to contradict her. 

The girls then ran past him to prepare their slumber party, and he walked down to find everyone else in the kitchen. Catelyn’s voice reached him as he stopped in the doorway. 

“You certainly did well buying the sandwich fixings, Jon. There’s plenty here for us to have sandwiches tonight. Did you get bacon? Oh, wonderful! I can fry some up and do BLTs if you all like.” 

There was a bit of false brightness to both her voice and her expression, but the grin on Rickon’s face was real, and Robb, Bran, and even Jon all looked genuinely happy as they sat around the table. Catelyn, of course, could navigate Winterfell’s kitchen blindfolded and could make a feast out of almost nothing at all, so Ned had no doubt they’d all be well fed this evening. For one brief moment, he almost smiled to see her there in the kitchen with their boys. It felt natural and right. 

Then, she looked up and saw him and all trace of brightness left her face. “It looks like I’ll have to impose upon your hospitality for the evening,” she said, her lady of the manor voice in full force. “I’m afraid it’ll take the boys an hour just to dig the car out when the snow finally stops, but they’ve agreed to help me get on my way as soon as possible tomorrow.” 

“I was just coming down to say I thought you should stay,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry, Cat.” 

“Well, as I said earlier, you are not responsible for the weather.” 

“I hope it never stops snowing and we all get to stay here all of Christmas!” Rickon exclaimed. “Christmas Eve is in two days, right, Mommy? On Sunday!” 

“Yes, Rickon,” Catelyn said softly, trying hard to smile at their youngest. “Christmas Eve is in two days.” 

She then met Ned’s eyes for the briefest of moments before returning to food preparation, and Ned found himself both dreading the rest of the evening and half hoping Rickon got his wish about the snow. 


	2. December 23rd--Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It will likely not come as a surprise to anyone who's read any of my other fics, but I can't fit all of December 23rd into one chapter without making it WAY too long, so I'm splitting it into two.

Catelyn yawned and stretched out an arm, aware that the dim light in the room must mean morning had arrived. She rolled sleepily to her side and opened her eyes to see a splash of auburn hair spread out on the pillow beside her. With a start, she realized where she was. Sansa appeared to still sleep soundly so she resisted the urge to reach out and stroke her daughter’s face lest she wake her. Instead, she rolled carefully toward the other direction and had to stifle a laugh as she spied her younger daughter sprawled across the camp bed with an arm and a leg hanging off the edge and all the covers kicked onto the floor. Arya has always been a rather active sleeper. That’s the biggest reason she’d been evicted from Sansa’s big bed when Catelyn had insisted the three of them had to go to sleep. Three in the bed would make it impossible for Sansa and her to avoid Arya’s kicks.

They had all three piled into Sansa’s bed initially like a trio of young girls at a slumber party, and it made Catelyn smile to recall what her girls had done for her. They’d talked about school, about boys they liked or hated, about upcoming sporting events (Arya) and the joys of after-Christmas clothing sales (Sansa). They’d had her giggling right along with them for over an hour when the last thing she could have imagined doing in Winterfell on this particular Christmas was laughing. Not once did either of them ask any of the questions she knew were burning in both their minds. Not once did they express the anger, confusion, or hurt she knew they both still felt over the divorce. Instead, the two girls she’d cared for since their births spent last night caring for her. It broke her heart that her little girls felt compelled to do that, but dear God, how she loved them for it. Her daughters mixed about like oil and water much of the time, but when they worked together, they were a force to be reckoned with. She prayed they could see that, and that they would appreciate it all their lives.

But she couldn’t lie in bed any longer. She had to get up so she could get out of here. She wondered what time it was and hoped it wasn’t too early to wake Robb and Jon if they were still awake as they had promised assistance in digging out the car. _As long as the snow has stopped,_ she thought apprehensively. Carefully, she scooted herself out from under the covers and away from Sansa to rise from the bed. She could tell it was light outside but the bright yellow drapes prevented her from actually seeing anything.

Sansa rolled a bit to the side, curling up more in the blankets as Catelyn stood, and no more than fifteen seconds later, Arya flopped from her belly to her back in one almost violent move, knocking the last corner of the blanket which had remained over one of her feet onto the floor. Again, Catelyn had to stifle a laugh. _Oil and water,_ she thought. But almost instantly, Ned’s voice spoke in her head, saying what he’d always said when she was particularly exasperated by their endless bickering. _Not oil and water, Cat. The sun and the moon. They may be as different as night and day, but they’re both a part of our little universe. And we couldn’t do without either of them._

It irritated Catelyn how often Ned’s voice still spoke in her head for it always seemed to confirm her fears that she’d never truly be able to let him go. He was simply too much a part of her. Yet, she couldn’t quite resent his intrusion into her mind in this moment as the truth of his words struck her even more forcefully now than they always had. She stood still a moment, making certain both the sun and the moon still slept, and then crept toward the window to pull aside the drape.

“Goddamit!” The curse escaped her lips before she could stop it.

“Language, young lady,” Arya said severely, obviously imitating her own oft repeated phrase—of late repeated more often to Arya than even to Robb.

Catelyn turned her eyes away from the depressingly heavy, swirling white flakes to regard her younger daughter who was now sitting up on the cot scarcely even trying to hide the smile on her face. “There are occasional situations where no other word fits,” she informed her daughter primly.

Arya cackled then. “I am SO gonna quote you on that!” she exclaimed. Then she tried to arrange her facial expression into some semblance of sympathy before asking, “I take it the snow hasn’t stopped?”

“Hasn’t even slowed down,” Catelyn sighed. As the full impact of potentially being stuck in Winterfell for another whole day with her husband, _ex-husband,_ when the two of them couldn’t seem to say more than five sentences to each other without starting an argument began to sink in, she walked back to Sansa’s bed, sat on the edge, and put her face in her hands. “What am I supposed to do now?” she wondered aloud, not realizing she’d even spoken aloud until Sansa answered.

“Bake cookies with us?”

Her daughter’s hopeful voice made her want to cry. Of course, she wanted to make cookies with them. Today was December 23rd, the day she spent nearly the entire day every year in baking in Winterfell’s kitchen with intermittent help from the various kids as their interest waxed and waned. Ned usually worked this day, and he’d arrive late in the evening to be met at the door with loud greetings and exhortations to ‘Taste this one, Daddy! I made it!’ When they’d all been younger, Ned had been forced to sample multiple sweets before they’d allow him to actually get the dinner she’d saved for him. In the past couple years, he’d laughed that one not-so-sad aspect of the children getting older was that only Bran and Rickon were insistent on shoving cookies down his throat upon arrival now. Once he had given the children all the attention they craved and they were content to head to bed (the younger ones) or be left to their own devices, he’d sit down in the kitchen and eat his long-awaited meal, tell her how wonderful the house looked and how he’d never know how she did it all. He’d insist that she pour herself a glass of wine and sit down rather than clean up anything. ‘Leave it for me, Cat. I’ll get it in the morning. Anything not done yet will keep until then.’ And if she’d protest, he’d smile at her and tell her that only a cruel woman would deprive a man of her company after he’d worked eight hours and driven another three, thinking about her the entire time.

Oh, yes. Catelyn wanted to bake Christmas cookies. She wanted it so badly that she despaired of ever finding a way to stop wanting it. But she wanted all that went with it, and now that was gone. And she didn’t know if she could pretend that didn’t hurt as badly as it did if she spent today the way she always had. As if the world hadn’t changed entirely since last Christmas.

She felt two arms encircle her from behind, and then Sansa’s chin was on her shoulder, her cheek against hers. “You don’t have to, Mom,” she said softly. “You don’t have to do anything. I just thought . . .”

“It’s better to do something than just . . . stand around all day trying not to tell Dad he’s an idiot,” Arya finished when Sansa seemed to get stuck.

“Arya, you can’t say such things about your father,” Catelyn said, wishing her daughter wasn’t quite so observant.

“It’s only the truth. I love Dad.” Arya narrowed her eyes at Catelyn. “And you do, too. Don’t even try to deny it because we all know better. And he loves you. Even if he is being an idiot right now.”

“Arya!” Sansa almost yelled. “Give it a rest, okay?”

Catelyn could hear the warning in Sansa’s voice as she obviously attempted to force her sister to recall that their mother was fragile and didn’t need to hear certain things. That caused Catelyn to unwrap Sansa’s arms from around her so that she could stand up and look at both her daughters.

“Girls,” she said. “I love you both. I do. But it is not your job to protect me or to question me. I know your father and I haven’t shared all the details of what’s happened between us, but that’s precisely because it is between us. And while I understand your frustration, that doesn’t mean I need to share the private details of my marriage with you. Neither does your father. It’s our marriage, girls. All the good, bad, and in-between is of our making and for us to sort out.”

“But that’s just it!” Arya protested. “You’re not sorting anything out. You just quit. You both just . . . quit. And I never believed you’d do that, Mom. Either of you.” There were tears in both her daughters’ eyes, and Catelyn realized that while she might never dare to voice it aloud, Sansa agreed with Arya’s assessment of what she and Ned had done.

“We didn’t quit,” she said softly. “We simply reached a point where . . . loving each other wasn’t enough to keep a marriage together.” Both of them opened their mouths as if to speak, so she quickly went on, raising her voice slightly to keep them silent. “And I know you don’t understand that. You’re both very young. I didn’t understand it myself until . . . well, until now, I suppose.” She took a deep breath, but neither girl spoke. “For what it’s worth, we do still care for each other, your father and I. I suppose we always will in some ways. We do share the two of you, after all. And your brothers. And I will love Ned forever for giving you to me, and I’m sure he feels the same.”

“He does, Mom! He loves you, and not just because of us! He misses you so much! And I don’t know why he keeps that stupid woman around, but . . .”

“Arya!” Sansa and Catelyn exclaimed at the same time. 

“Please,” Sansa said, looking at Arya with her eyes wide and drawing the word out as if it had several syllables.

“That is enough!” Catelyn said. “From both of you. Arya, you have got to stop saying hateful things about people. And that includes Ms. Dayne. You will treat her with as much respect as I would expect you to treat any of your father’s friends. I fear we’ve been far too lenient with you since your father left the house. You’ve said some truly terrible things to me, to your father, to Ms. Dayne, and God knows who else, and we’ve not called you out as strongly as we should have because we know we’ve hurt you. We’ve hurt all of you. And I’m sorry for that. I’ll be sorry for it for the rest of my life, but it doesn’t give you carte blanche to be hateful or cruel. Words hurt, Arya. And not all hurts are easily healed. You need to learn that.”

Arya bit her lip, but didn’t reply.

“And you, Sansa,” Catelyn said, turning to her older daughter. “I am a grown woman. I do not need you censoring your sister or anyone else when it comes to what they feel they need to say to me. It isn’t your place or anyone else’s to tell me your father’s business. His business is his own. We are divorced, whether or not any of us has accepted that or not. But I also don’t need to be protected from all knowledge of your father’s life. You are in your father’s life, and what affects you will always matter to me. And if any one of you is upset or worried or just uncertain about anything, you can talk to me. I’m your mother. Even if it involves your father moving on with his life, well, I’m a big girl. I can take it.”

Sansa looked down. 

Catelyn stood there looking at both of them, wishing she could simply climb back into Sansa’s bed and pull Arya with her so that the three of them could argue once more with smiles and laughter over about what Christmas carols are best. “And girls,” she said softly. “Thank you for last night. It was fun.” She smiled at them. “More fun than I’d have had at home by myself last night.” Of course, she’d also have missed all the painful interactions with Ned, so on balance, she’d probably have been better off at home, but her girls didn’t need to hear that part.

Arya tried to smile at her then. “Well, if you’re stuck here, Mom, we can do something fun today. I mean, we can keep Dad out of the kitchen. It’s abnormal for HIM to be here on cookie day, after all. It’s usually just us and you, so this your day anyway.”

Catelyn sighed. “Winterfell is your father’s home. It’s been in the Stark family for ages. You have to stop thinking of it as mine. On any day.” 

“Well, that’s stupid,” Arya said flatly.” When Catelyn raised a brow at her, she amended her words. “I mean, that upsets and worries me, Mom. And I’m very uncertain about it. So I’m telling you how I feel.”

Catelyn couldn’t help but laugh at her.

“All right, miss. Considering that you’re wide awake, why don’t you head on to your room and start getting dressed for the day.”

“Okay,” Arya said. “But if any of the boys are up and on the Xbox already, I’m not getting cleaned up until they do.”

She nearly catapulted herself off the camp bed, threw her arms around Catelyn for a quick but forceful hug, and then headed out of Sansa’s bedroom at a brisk pace.

Sansa stretched and shook her head. “I don’t know how she does that. She goes from comatose to wide awake faster than anyone I know.”

“She takes after your father,” Catelyn said absently. “He always wakes up all at once, ready to get going. I need to lie back and stretch a bit, myself, like a normal human being. You take after me.”

Sansa looked at her a moment. “You said ‘any of us’ before,” she said.

Catelyn was thrown by the non-sequitur. “What?” she asked.

“When you were telling me that you don’t need protecting,” Sansa clarified. “You said that you and Dad are divorced whether any of _us_ accepts it or not instead of any of _you_. And now, you’re talking about waking up with Dad in the morning. If you don’t accept that you’re getting divorced, how can you expect us to?”

Sansa spoke softly and gently, but she clearly wanted answers as much as Arya.

“Sansa,” she said, sighing, “It’s just a word. I was simply talking about the family as a whole, not attempting to include myself specifically.” Truthfully, she hadn’t meant to include herself, hadn’t meant to say ‘us.’ But only because she didn’t want her children to know precisely how much trouble she was having accepting any of this. “As for your father’s sleeping and waking habits, I did sleep with him for years. I haven’t suddenly developed amnesia. I was merely pointing out that you and your sister each have a solid genetic reason for waking up the way you do. Please don’t read too much into every word I say, sweetling. It’ll drive you crazy.”

Sansa sighed. “Okay, I’ll stop. But I’m going to tell you something first. Because, as Arya said, it’s been concerning me. I don’t like Ashara Dayne hanging around with Dad so much.”

“Sansa . . .” Catelyn started.

“No. You said we could tell you things that concern us. And I’m not calling her stupid. She’s actually pretty nice. It’s just . . . she’s not you. And none of us want her around. Even if that’s not fair,” Sansa added hastily before Catelyn could speak. “And last night . . . after you went upstairs . . . we told Dad that. Arya and me, I mean. Well, Robb, too, I guess although he mostly just growled and glared and told Dad off.”

“Oh, Sansa,” Catelyn sighed. “You all really shouldn’t . . .”

“No, Mom. It was good. It’s like you said—we need to talk to you two about the stuff that bother us.” She frowned then. “Even if you won’t always give us a straight answer.”

Catelyn stayed silent.

“But last night, Dad did answer us,” Sansa continued after a moment. “And I believe him. He’s not . . . um, dating her or anything. I mean, he’s still been pretty dumb, and he must be blind if he doesn’t see how interested SHE is, but . . . yeah. He isn’t . . . with her.” Sansa’s cheeks flushed slightly, and Catelyn thought it must feel terribly awkward trying to convince your mother that your father isn’t sleeping with anyone else.

She thought back to her painful conversation with Ned the previous evening, his insistence that he wasn’t involved with his ex-lover. He’d seemed so desperate to convince her of that . . . right up until he threw out that wild accusation about Roose Bolton, of all people. 

“Mom? Do you believe me?”

Sansa was looking at her with concern, and Catelyn wondered what her face had looked like. Between recalling her argument with Ned and that awful episode with Bolton, she imagined she’d looked rather grim indeed. “I believe you, sweetling,” she said simply. She had no doubt Sansa was now convinced of her father’s truthfulness in the matter. She wished she could be. She wished even more that she could make herself not care whether he was telling the truth or not.

“Good,” Sansa said, smiling. “I know you keep saying it’s none of your business. But even though we were all mad at him because he was so dumb, we should have known better than to think he’d do something like that to you even if you are getting divorced. He would never cheat on you, Mom!” She spoke vehemently, and then realized precisely what she’d said. “I mean . . . not now. Not . . .Oh, Mom, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . .”

“That was a long time ago, Sansa,” Catelyn said softly. “And I know your father has never cheated on me after that time.” _Or before that time._ It struck Catelyn as almost comical that she’d reached a point in her life where she actually wished Ned had simply fucked some kind, sympathetic Essosi girl in the depth of despair all those years ago and, in his drunken haze, had neglected to use a condom. “Whatever else you worry about when you try to understand what’s happened between your father and me, it isn’t about infidelity. I promise you that.”

Sansa gave her a long, considering look. While she’d forgiven Ned long ago for the imaginary adultery, it had taken some time to forgive him completely. And even then, she wasn’t always very good with the forgive and _forget_ part. Robb and Sansa were the only children other than Jon who were old enough to remember at all the tension that would spring up between Ned and herself in those early years much more frequently than it had in the last decade or so. And with no other obvious explanation for the split, no wonder her older children’s minds went there first.

“I promise, Sansa,” she repeated.

“All right,” she said slowly. “Mom . . . I know I’m being selfish, but would you at least thinking about baking with us today? I mean, you’re here. We might as well make the best of it. And I know that’s what Rickon wants to do.”

“Rickon?” Catelyn actually laughed. “That child can handle any sort of organized activity that doesn’t involve running or throwing for five minute intervals, tops.”

“I know,” Sansa laughed. “But he likes tasting. And he was pointing out today’s date when I kicked him out of here last night. He actually knew that today would be ‘Mommy Makes the Cookies Day.’ When I told him you’d probably leave before we started baking, he didn’t even cry. He just said, not if he prayed really hard for more snow, you wouldn’t. So, you see . . . Rickon’s going to take this as an answered prayer. And if you boycott the baking, well . . . you don’t want to undermine his faith in God, do you? Especially at Christmas!”

Catelyn frowned and shook her head slowly. “Sansa Lyarra Stark, you are playing dirty, young lady.”

Sansa grinned at her, and for a moment looked alarmingly like her sister although the two didn’t resemble each other in the slightest. “I know,” she said rather proudly. “Is it working?”

Catelyn couldn’t help smiling at her. “Maybe,” she said. “First I have to see what I can do to feel human with no toiletries and no fresh clothes.”

“Mom! I’ve got shampoo and body wash and lotion and make-up, and anything you need, really! And you _know_ there are extra toothbrushes in the guest bathroom. You put them there! As for clothes, I’m sure you have a few things in your closet here that you . . .”

“I can’t,” Catelyn interrupted, hating to admit this particular weakness to her daughter. “I can’t go in there Sansa. I just . . .” She shook her head and looked toward the window and the still heavy snowfall that seemed to mock her distress. It was hard enough sleeping without Ned in their house in King’s Landing, and she honestly wondered how she would manage when Rickon inevitably got over his desire to sleep with her. But the master bedroom in Winterfell. They’d spent their wedding night there. She couldn’t stand the thought of walking in there and seeing him in their bed when she’d slept down the hall like a guest. _I am a guest here now,_ she thought bleakly. _An uninvited guest, at that._

“I can check and see if Daddy’s gone,” Sansa said. Of all the older children, Sansa was the only one who still called her father ‘Daddy’ on occasion, and it had always made Catelyn smile. She still called her own father ‘Daddy’ sometimes, and she knew he loved it. Just as Ned loved that however grown-up Sansa got, she would remind him with that one word that she’d always be his little girl. As angry as she was with Ned, Catelyn was glad that Sansa wasn’t too angry with him to keep doing that. “Or better yet, I’ll just grab you some clothes! That way you don’t have to go in there at all.” Sansa tried to smile brightly at her, but the lighthearted attitude she’d adapted since hitting her mother with the Rickon blackmail had evaporated. Catelyn supposed no child needed to know that her mother wasn’t strong enough to handle even walking into a room once shared with her father, and she cursed her own weakness.

All she said, however, was, “Thank you, Sansa.”

Alone in her room, she thought about her daughters. All their lives, she’d prayed that they find a man to love as she loved Ned. Now she didn’t know what to pray for. She wanted love for all her children, but she never wanted them to feel the way she did now. She didn’t want them to feel the way they did now. Bitterly, she wondered if she should simply pray for all them to feel nothing at all because numbness might be preferable to this. But she pushed that thought away. She allowed thoughts of prayer to lead her to thoughts of Rickon and his prayer for snow. It was impossible to think of Rickon and feel bitter. Exhausted, maybe. But never bitter. Not about any of her children. _Without Ned in my life, I would not have them,_ she reminded herself.

She did that frequently—reminded herself that she could never regret her marriage. Never allow herself that she and Ned had been a mistake from the beginning. Because doing that cast all five of her precious children as mistakes—as something that never should have been. It was alarmingly easy to make herself recall all the joy she’d had in her marriage. The trouble is that doing that made it even harder to accept the ending. Which circled back around to the bitterness she was determined not to feel. She’d find the balance somehow. She had to. This was her reality now.

Unbidden, Ned’s words from last night came back to her. His lashing out at her by reducing every problem they’d ever had to her being jealous and resentful about Jon had hurt, but was hardly a new accusation. His specifically accusing her of making love into a competition was a bit of a new wrinkle on that old accusation and had hurt a bit more. If she were completely honest with herself, she would have to admit there might be a kernel of truth in both of those statements at times. It hurt like hell when he’d said right to her face that his sister’s right to demand that he lie to her superseded her right to have honesty from him. If that made her competitive in his eyes, then so be it. It had hurt more that he honestly believed her insistence that Jon learn the truth at some point in the not too distant future was born of jealousy and resentment. She’d walked through the hell of those emotions years ago and come out on the other side. Not perfectly. She knew that. But to believe she’d raised Jon from the age of nine months to seventeen without developing any sense of responsibility for him was ludicrous. 

Dwelling on such things would only make what would already be a difficult day even more difficult, so she pushed them aside. She’d turned them round and round in her head these past months. She and Ned had gone multiple rounds over these very topics, but never seemed to get anywhere but angry. 

But as she watched the snow fall, Ned’s new accusation came back to haunt her. While a large part of her hoped more desperately than she cared to acknowledge that Ned truly didn’t have any feelings for and was not sleeping with Ashara Dayne, it made his accusation about Roose Bolton even more hurtful, oddly enough. Last night, in her fury and jealousy, _(Yes, Catelyn, you were jealous. Call it what it is, whether you have any right to be jealous anymore or not)_ , she had thought that crazy statement was the only thing he could come up with to justify his own behavior as he obviously had struggled to do so any other way. But if he truly wasn’t sleeping with the woman, does that mean he truly believed she would cheat on him? She’d never given him one reason to believe such a thing. And with Roose Bolton, of all people? 

Neither of them particularly liked the man. He’d moved onto their street three years ago and had always seemed cold and a bit odd. He had two boys, and the older one seemed nice enough, but was older than any of her kids and away at college most of the time since moving in. His younger son was in the same grade as Robb and Jon, and was simply mean. Catelyn didn’t like to write people off as all bad, but if there was such a thing as a “bad seed” this kid was it. To be fair to Roose, whenever there was a problem between Ramsay and any of the Stark children, he didn’t get angry at Ned or Catelyn for bringing it to his attention or attempt to deny his son’s behavior. But the way he’d simply say, _It will be taken care of,_ always gave Catelyn the creeps. Honestly, it made her feel almost sorry for the boy. In any event, the man seemed to have done something to take care of it, as Ramsay pretty much steered clear of all the Starks after they’d been there about a year. According to Robb and Jon, he was still perpetually in trouble at school when he bothered to show up, but he didn’t come near them.

Roose had barely acknowledged the Starks, either. He’d raise a hand in sort of a half wave when he passed the house on his evening walk, but nothing more. Then after Ned left, she was struggling to get the lawn mower started one evening while all the kids were at their father’s for the weekend. Robb had been supposed to cut it before they left, but had neglected to do so, and Catelyn had decided she was capable of doing it herself. Only she wasn’t. But Roose Bolton came by on his walk, saw her difficulty, and started it up for her with minimal conversation. Several days later, he saw her pull in with a trunk full of groceries and came over to help her carry them in. It was a blisteringly hot September day so she’d offered him a lemonade to thank him, and he’d actually made a bit of almost friendly conversation with her there in the kitchen.

When he came over a week later and told her he’d noticed a hole in the fence around their backyard and volunteered to repair it so their dogs couldn’t get out, she began to feel a little bit stalked. So she flat out asked him why he kept showing up. He’d actually stammered and looked down, but he finally said that he’d heard about Ned not being there and he just remembered how hard it was when his wife died, and he didn’t know how to do any of the things she did really. He figured Catelyn might not know how to do all the things Ned had done, and it just seemed the neighborly thing to do. Since he knew how that felt.

It was the most sincerely human she’d ever seen the man look, and she’d believed him. So when a particularly nasty late September thunderstorm took down the gutter and two downspouts on one side of their house, she was nothing but grateful when he’d showed up with a ladder and tools and offered to repair it. She’d almost broken down and called Ned which she did NOT want to do as she had found out about his staying with Ashara when he’d first left and been served with divorce papers all within the past two weeks.

It had taken Roose two days to finish repairing the gutter, and she’d insisted he allow her to make him dinner to thank him. He’d told her he didn’t want to make her cook so she offered to buy him dinner and told him he couldn’t say no. So he’d said he was available that Friday. She’d hated that because it was one of the Fridays Arya would be home without her siblings, and Catelyn hated leaving her alone, but she felt she had to do something for the man. Then Ned called to say that Rickon had come down with a fever Thursday evening and wanted no one but her so she told him to bring Rickon home when he headed to work Friday morning. She’d every intent of canceling the thank you dinner, but by lunch time, it was obvious Rickon was fine. She wasn’t certain how the child had convinced her father he had an actual fever, but she’d never seen Ned use a thermometer so perhaps it wasn’t that difficult. For whatever reason, he’d just wanted to come home. The whole visitation thing had only been going on for a month then.

Arya, surprisingly, told Catelyn she should go to dinner and that she’d watch Rickon, so Catelyn had promised she’d only be gone about an hour. She’d ended up being gone for two hours and had a surprisingly enjoyable evening. Roose Bolton was hardly a sparkling conversationalist, but marriage to Ned had certainly taught her how to hold conversations with men who don’t always want to talk a lot. And she’d realized it was the first actual adult conversation she’d had that was not work related since Ned had left. Or even since before Ned had left as they’d had more arguments followed by periods of silence rather than conversations in those last few weeks he’d been in the house.

Of course, she’d felt guilty when she noticed the time and insisted she had to get home. She’d also felt guilty about being out with a man which was ridiculous since it wasn’t a date and it seemed her husband didn’t want to be her husband any longer anyway. She’d been angry at herself for feeling guilty about that, and so when Roose Bolton asked if he could come in for a bit, she’d told him certainly, as long as he didn’t mind her kids.

He’d said he was fine with the kids so they’d walked in to the house and discovered Arya and Rickon watching some Superhero movie in the family room. They’d sat down to join them, Catelyn on the couch with Rickon in her lap glaring at Roose as if he might be a villain from the film, Roose in the armchair Ned had always sat in when he wasn’t on the couch with her, and Arya sprawled on the floor more or less ignoring both adults after her grudging hello. Surprisingly, as soon as the movie ended, Arya had volunteered to take Rickon up to bed herself, and said she’d lie down with him in Catelyn’s bed until he fell asleep. 

“Mom?” Sansa’s voice startled Catelyn, and she realized she still stood at the window having been lost in her thoughts. “I got your clothes.”

“Oh! Thank you, Sansa.” 

“Dad and Rickon were still in there, but Rickon tried to dash down here when he heard you were up. I convinced him to let you at least shower and dress by telling him that Jon’s in the kitchen getting out the baking stuff. He jumped up and yelled, “Yay! Cookies with Mommy!” and took off for the stairs in his pajamas.”

“You are a master manipulator, aren’t you, Sansa?” Catelyn said, raising a brow.

“It’s always the quiet ones,” Sansa said smugly.

Catelyn laughed. “And you’re only a freshman! What on earth am I going to do with you when you’re a senior?”

Sansa simply shrugged and looked impossibly sweet and innocent causing Catelyn to laugh again.

“And is Jon in the kitchen getting out baking stuff?” she asked.

“Yep. And believe it or not, Robb is helping him. Here’s hoping he doesn’t actually attempt to do anything of importance to actual food. He can be on Rickon duty now, I suppose.”

“And the other two?”

“Arya’s already out of our bathroom. She can’t possibly have taken a real shower. She and Bran are shooting at each other on the Xbox. I’m gonna take a shower now myself. You can come with me and get anything you want out of my stuff and take it to the guest bathroom. Nobody’s back there.”

With Rickon out of his room, Ned would be climbing into the large shower of the master bedroom, turning on one of the showerheads, able to keep the water as cool as he liked without her there to shriek any time the water from his shower head hit her until he turned up the heat on his side. He’d always tell her in a long-suffering voice that it was terribly unfair of her to take advantage of the fact that he couldn’t resist doing anything she asked, including melting, if it meant he got to have her wet and naked in close proximity.

“Mom? Does that sound okay?”

“What? Oh! Sure, Sansa. That sounds fine. I’ll get cleaned up, and then I guess it’s Christmas cookies!” Catelyn heard the false brightness in her voice and wondered if Sansa did, too.

Sansa smiled at her with more understanding and compassion in her expression than a girl barely fifteen should have to possess said, “Thanks, Mom. It means a lot to all of us.”

“Well, I’ll pass judgment on that when I see just how much assistance I actually get,” Catelyn teased. Then she took her clothing from Sansa’s arms and walked with her daughter toward the girls’ bathroom across the hall. She tried very hard not to look down the hall at the closed door of the master bedroom or imagine her husband, ex-husband, in the shower. She definitely tried very hard to avoid thinking about the two of them together in that shower. As she gathered up a few toiletries from Sansa’s bounty and walked even further away from that closed door on her way to the little guest bathroom, she almost hated herself for wanting to cry. She hated herself even more for the fact that the last lips to touch her own had, in fact, been Roose Bolton’s.

________________________________________________________________________________________

 

 _This water isn’t cold enough,_ Ned thought to himself. Of course, if Catelyn had been in the shower, she would be jumping up and down beneath her own scalding cascade of water squealing as if she had frostbite every time a single droplet of any water this temperature touched hit her toe. He groaned. Thinking of Catelyn jumping up and down in the shower with the water running through her hair and dripping off her nipples was not helping with his problem. _There is not enough cold water in the whole damn world,_ he thought in irritation.

He knew the problem was having her in this house. There was too much history here. And almost all of it good. There had been arguments over the years, of course. All married couples argued. And during those first years after he’d brought Jon home, there’d been tension and the occasional temper flares wherever they were, including Winterfell. But still, Winterfell had always been their happiest place. They’d lived full time at the house in King’s Landing for a longer period of time, but since May things had essentially gone bad and gotten progressively worse, so by the time he left, that house felt more like a prison than a home. Here, he found himself almost forgetting how bad it had gotten in spite of the argument they’d had last night. That should have reminded him clearly enough why the two of them couldn’t live together, but instead he’d awakened this morning in the bed they’d shared so many times, his mind still half in a rather intense dream about his soon-to-be-ex-wife with a massive erection while his six year old son slept beside him. 

God, it had been difficult to sleep in this bed without her. When he and Jon had arrived to Winterfell, his son hadn’t said a word about his putting his bag in the master bedroom, but sleeping in Robb’s room. He’d known he’d have to sleep in the master once the other kids arrived, but he’d dreaded it. And he hadn’t known then that he’d have to do it after spending an evening eating Catelyn’s BLTs and watching her with their children. It was so right and so wrong all at once that he wanted to scream. He wanted her gone. He wanted her in his bedroom. He reminded himself that she had chosen this. He asked himself if he might have been wrong somehow. He wondered if it bothered her to sleep in their bedroom in King’s Landing without him. He wondered if she ever pretended he was simply gone on a business trip or if she had simply redone the whole room, making what was once theirs truly only hers by now. He hadn’t touched a damn thing in this room. Of course, he’d barely set foot in it except to get his clothes until last night. He definitely hadn’t used this ridiculously large shower. Looking at the space where she should be, at the unused shower head that should be producing steam which could fog up the whole damn bathroom was physically painful. This had to stop.

He’d never been happier to see Rickon than he was when the boy showed up in the bedroom last night shortly after Ned had come upstairs himself. He wondered if Cat used their son as a security blanket to get through nights in King’s Landing or if she was actively trying to get him back into his own bed. Rickon didn’t even have a bed at Ned’s rented house. There was a bed that no one slept in—the bottom bunk in the room where Bran slept up top, but as Rickon had nothing of his in the room and had never even sat on the bed as far as Ned knew, no one considered it his. Anything that Rickon left at his place was in Ned’s room. He supposed it was poor parenting to let his son just sleep in his bed every night as if he belonged there, but he didn’t have the heart to kick him out. And Rickon told him he slept with Catelyn as well so even if she was trying to be better about it than he was, she wasn’t succeeding. In any event, the fact that Ned had finally managed to fall asleep at all was probably due to Rickon’s sweet little sleepy voice chattering on about Christmas until his yawns became more frequent than his words and he finally drifted off to dream of Santa Claus or Rudolph or some other Christmas magic.

When Rickon first appeared in his room last night, he’d had a momentary thrill that his youngest had actually chosen him over his mother when he had access to either of them, but the child had promptly stuck his lip out and informed him grumpily that Sansa and Arya were hogging Mommy, and Sansa wouldn’t let him stay and sleep with them even though there was plenty of room if Arya would just get on the little bed she was supposed to sleep on. It was hardly the first time Ned had felt like a consolation prize where his children were concerned. That had pretty much been the way of things when the children had any actual needs. Unless, of course, the need was to convince a parent to allow something they feared might not pass muster with Catelyn. Then he was their first choice because even if the two of them did try to present a united front (and he felt they’d usually succeeded) when it came to requests from or rule infractions by their offspring, everyone knew he was the more likely to cave in to crazy demands or flimsy excuses. He was also their go-to guy for all outdoor sports that took place in snow or even moderately cold weather. Other than these things, 9 times out of 10, Catelyn was the parent every one of his children went to first. Except for Jon, of course. Jon always came to him. _Except for all the hours and days you weren’t at home,_ a nagging little voice reminded him. He went to Catelyn then, even if it was only out of necessity. She never refused to care for him. He got everything the other kids had. _Except her love. He always knew she wasn’t his mother._

 _Did you love her? His mother?_ In his mind, he could still hear the pain in her voice as clearly as he had on that long ago day. He could still see the shock and terrible hurt in those beautiful blue eyes that searched his face as if seeking to understand something that she couldn’t comprehend. _Why, Ned? Why would you do this? Why didn’t you tell me about it if it was simply a mistake? A moment of weakness? Do you still think of her? Do you love me at all?_

That last had been the hardest question for him to hear. To hear her doubt his love for her had hurt more than he’d imagined anything could. She was his world. She held his heart and his soul and everything good about him. He’d almost told her the truth that very first evening. He’d purposely arrived home after he knew Robb would be in bed. He’d walked into the house with Jon in his arms and said simply, _Cat, I have to tell you something._ She’d taken one look at Jon, one look at his own face which must have looked like grim death and started backing away from him. 

_Who is he, Ned? Please tell me. Tell me anything except . . ._

_He’s mine, Cat. I’m sorry. It should never have happened, but . . . he’s my blood. I can’t turn him away._

She’d seemed to crumble slowly, folding in upon herself as she sank to the floor, sitting there with her arms around her knees as if to protect herself from his words. He’d lowered himself to sit before her, still holding Jon, telling her the story Lyanna had given him. He still didn’t know how much she’d heard that first evening. God knows, she’d asked him for the details time and time again over the next weeks and months, sometimes calmly, sometimes in tears, sometimes in a raging fury. But that night, she’d asked almost no questions. When he’d finished speaking, she’d simply looked at his face and asked _Did you love her? His mother?_ How could he answer that? Lyanna had invented for him the story of Anna Snow, a young woman who’d befriended him while he was on bereavement leave from the front but still across the sea after Brandon was killed. The fictional Anna was just a kind, sweet girl who felt sorry for him, and one night after too much whiskey, she’d mistaken his need for comfort for something more and he’d been drunk enough to accept that comfort. The next morning he’d been overwhelmed with guilt so he’d walked away and never spoken with her again. Upon his return, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to hurt Catelyn when she’d been so happy to have him home, so he’d let his guilt stay buried rather than confess. And he’d only learned of Jon’s existence two days ago, when an attorney had contacted him to tell him that Anna had died of cancer, but before her death had made arrangements for him to be located to give Jon a chance to be raised by his father rather than put into foster care as she had no family. He’d taken a paternity test which confirmed the boy was his.

 _Did you love her? His mother?_ Why had she asked that question first? He’d just told her the story just as Lyanna had bid him tell it. He’d gone over it in his head a million times.He had the paperwork to back it up. He knew the damn Anna Snow story. But with Catelyn’s eyes looking at him, twin crystal pools of pure pain, asking if he loved Jon’s mother, he could only recall Lyanna. He couldn’t speak of her, but he thought of his sister, alive somewhere, but dead to him. Dead to her son. Giving up everyone she loved for the sake of giving her child certain safety. They’d already had a funeral for Lyanna when he believed her dead and the grief then had threatened to crush him, but somehow this was worse. He would never know for certain from this day forward if she was alive or not. Jon would never know she had lived at all. Not Lyanna. Not Ned’s sister with her too clever mind and insatiable craving for adventure and stubborn streak as wide as the sea and heart as big the sky. Of course, he loved her. And losing her all over again hurt like hell. And Catelyn had seen all that in his face. Ned was told repeatedly that his face was unreadable, but Cat had always been able to read him like a book. And she saw the truth in his face, but the lie in his words kept her from understanding that truth. He’d eventually managed to stammer something about how Anna had been kind and he’d cared for her, but he’d never loved her. It had all been a mistake. All the while, he’d been thinking that, of course, he hadn’t loved Anna Snow. She didn’t exist. But his lies felt hollow on his tongue and no doubt sounded hollow to Catelyn’s ears. And after a few ‘why’ questions, she’d asked only the one more. 

_Do you love me at all?_

A knife to the heart could have caused him no more pain. At least, he could speak honestly without any hesitation to that question.

_Cat, you are everything! I love you more than I can ever say, and I am so sorry I have hurt you like this, but please, please know this, my love. You are everything to me. You are everything._

The tears which had been pooling in her eyes since he’d first told her he had to tell her something had begun spilling out then. A couple of sobs had escaped her throat and then she’d laughed. She’d actually laughed, but it was the saddest sound Ned had ever heard. And she spoke her next word in a whisper.

_Everything. That’s funny. Because right now, I feel like nothing. Nothing at all._

He’d thought he’d lost her then. She’d risen to her feet and gone to their bedroom, shutting the door behind her, but not slamming it. He’d followed behind her for a moment thinking only about how he couldn’t lose her. He had to tell her. _God, forgive me. Lya, forgive me. I have to tell her._

He’d stood outside the bedroom door with Jon still in his arms, awake but as silent as if he understood the gravity of the situation. He’d taken a deep breath and knocked on the door. She didn’t answer. 

_Catelyn? I love you so much. Please open the door. I have to tell you . . ._

_No._ Her voice still sounded desolate, but the one word was spoken with great conviction.

_Cat?_

_No. You don’t have to tell me one more word tonight. I can’t hear it. I just . . . can’t. I love you, Ned, but I can’t look at you right now. And I can’t hear you say another word._

She loved him. He’d told her he’d fathered a child on some strange woman, and she’d told him she loved him. She was deeply hurt. He knew that. But she’d said she loved him. Surely, things would be all right between them as long as she did. She didn’t want to hear another word from him. She’d sounded as if she meant that, too. Not wanting to hurt or anger her any more, he’d walked away from the door. Jon then began to fuss, and it occurred to Ned that he didn’t have a bed for him. Lyanna had given him quite a few things—infant bottles, formula, diapers, and some clothing items chief among them. But dragging a crib home on a plane would have been impractical to say the least. Completely at a loss as to what to do, Ned had walked into Robb’s room, bouncing Jon up and down as they went. Oddly, Robb who normally slept like a rock all night, was awake. He’d stood up in his crib when Ned walked in and raised up his arms in a silent request to be held. Not wanting him to cry and disturb, Cat, Ned had adjusted Jon into just his left arm and reached for Robb with his right. Robb, who’d practically been born smiling and had never met a stranger immediately said Hi which was his favorite new word and blew a kiss which was currently one of his favorite tricks. And Jon smiled. He hadn’t smiled since they’d left Lyanna. He hadn’t cried much either, but Ned had feared the child would never smile again after leaving his mother. The two of them together were a lot to hold, but he’d stood there and held them as they smiled at each other and Robb had babbled away, throwing out the occasional actual word among the gibberish. Jon never made a sound, but he’d kept smiling until finally he’d yawned. Robb had laughed, and then he’d yawned, too. Ned, not knowing what else to do, but afraid his arms would fall off soon, had set them both in Robb’s crib. Considering that Jon was 9 months old and Robb was over a year, they were probably too big to share, but they seemed content. After a moment, they’d both lain down, their two sturdy little bodies seeming to fill all the available space. He’d allowed himself to smile at the dark and auburn heads lying almost against each other and gone to sleep on the couch.

The next morning he’d awakened, panicked when he remembered all the events of the previous night, and rushed into Robb’s room to find Catelyn standing there staring down at the two little boys still asleep in the crib.

She’d looked up at him when he entered, and her eyes were puffy. He knew she’d cried a lot and likely hadn’t slept much, but he just stood there like stone. She’d said she didn’t want to hear any more words from him so he just looked at her. Looked at the woman he loved and had hurt. 

She’d swallowed and bit her lip for a moment as if carefully considering her own words.

 _I love you._ His heart soared at hearing those words yet again. _I love you, and I want to forgive you. But I don’t know how yet._

He’d nodded. _That’s fair._ Looking back, he thought that he probably could have said a thousand things in that moment that would have been better than that, but she’d only shaken her head a little and given him a half smile.

 _Well, fair or not, it’s all I’ve got._ She’d then looked back to the boys. _You have to go get him a crib today. If they get used to sleeping in one, they won’t like being separated. And they aren’t small enough to share. One of them will get hurt._

She’d then walked past him without touching him and left the room. And he had begun his life as an acknowledged adulterer while she began her life as the woman who took in her husband’s bastard. And he kept the promise to Lyanna that he’d come so close to breaking the previous night. He’d been tempted to break it more than once after that, but he’d never come that close again.

He’d wondered numerous times since the world had come crashing down over a high school blood drive what might have been different if Catelyn had let him come into her room and talk to her that night. If she hadn’t been so quick to tell him she loved him, hurt and broken as she was. God, he loved her. She was wrong. So wrong about Jon. So inflexible now, which infuriated him to no end when she’d been able to bend just enough to let them find their way together before. But he blamed himself. He’d asked her to bend one too many times, it seemed. Asked her to forgive him and understand his reasons for what he’d done. The last time he’d asked that of her, everything he’d asked forgiveness for had been all been lies. Everything she’d forced herself to accept for the sake of their love had been made up. He understood why she found it harder to forgive him now because he had never forgotten her eyes that first night. He knew he had no right to ask more of her.

Yet, none of this was Jon’s fault any more than it was Catelyn’s. And his keeping the secret all these years had nothing to do with his not trusting her. Why couldn’t she see that? Lyanna had been terrified for Jon. The danger was real, and nothing would give her peace except his promise of complete secrecy. She was losing her son, losing her identity. How could not at least give her peace? 

_How could you steal the peace of mind from the woman you swore to love until death?_ That thought crept up on him unbidden. 

_Do you love me at all?_ He leaned his head back against the wall of the shower, closing his eyes and wishing he could still make her believe his answer to that question. He wished he could wrap his arms around her and hold her and kiss her breathless until she understood that he would love her until he died. 

God, he needed to stop thinking about Cat. He needed to get out of his head, needed to get out of this shower, and needed to get dressed and go downstairs to his kids. You’d think that being trapped in his bed hiding an obvious erection first from his 6 year old son who was jumping up and down on that very bed shouting that his snow prayers worked and then from his teenaged daughter who arrived looking for clothes for the very wife whose presence in his dreams had caused said erection would be enough to end it. Or that the cold shower and ruminating on some of the worst memories of his life might do the trick. But, he kept looking at that damn empty space under the second shower head where she should be standing and all the regret, longing, and even anger just continued to make him want her. She’d looked so beautiful last night making those stupid sandwiches. Counting days and actually singing the days of the week to the tune of the old Addams Family tv show of all things with Rickon. Trying to play some video game with Bran and laughing along with the kids as they all made fun of her inability to hit the right button on the controller to make the little character do what she wanted. Almost running up the stairs with Sansa and Arya when the two of them grabbed her by the hands and announced it was time for a girls only party. She’d been so . . . Catelyn. So completely her beautiful self with all the kids, and it had felt almost normal except that she’d barely spoken to or even looked at him at all after their argument. She’d been polite enough and fixed him a plate just as she did for everyone else, but there was no connection between them. And here in this place, where they’d always been so connected, that was killing him. He wondered if she knew how she was killing him.

Finally, he admitted defeat and let go of his stubborn refusal to admit even to himself she still had the ability to affect his mind, heart, and body more than anyone he’d ever known. He took his problem in hand and didn’t even try to pretend he imagined anyone but the wife who didn’t want him as he stroked himself to a release. It didn’t take long. As he slumped back against the wall of the shower, catching his breath afterward, he thought that a psychiatrist would probably have a field day with him. Then he opened the shower door and stepped out into the completely fog-free bathroom to dry off and get dressed.

As he pulled on a grey sweater, refusing to don any of the ridiculous Christmas apparel until at least Christmas Eve, a knock came at his door. “Dad! Are you alive?”

He sighed. “Yes, Arya. I’m right here.”

His younger daughter opened the door without awaiting any further invitation, making him very glad he was dressed.

“Do you want an omelette?”

He eyed her suspiciously. “Do you even know how to make an omelette, Arya?”

“No,” she snorted. “Mom’s making them. Or you can just have scrambled eggs if you’d rather. And she’s frying all the bacon we didn’t eat on sandwiches last night. And there’s toast and stuff. And some cantaloupe and grapefruit. Jon really did know what to buy!”

“And why are you giving Jon all the credit?” he asked her in mock dismay.

“Oh yeah. I should give credit to Mom, too, since he used her shopping lists!” Arya grinned. “Seriously, though, do you want breakfast or not?”

“Your mother doesn’t need to cook anything for me. I’ll grab something when I get down there.”

Arya rolled her eyes. “You’re being stupid, you know. She’s cooking for everybody. One more omelette isn’t a big deal. You eating a pop tart or something because Mom’s the one cooking will make it a big deal. So just tell me what you want.”

“Arya,” Ned said warningly, annoyed by his daughter’s alarmingly escalating tendency to say whatever she pleased to her parents or other adults and also annoyed by the fact that she was right. At this point, refusing to allow Catelyn to make his breakfast only made him look petty. “Are there mushrooms?” he relented.

“Yes. Did you even go to the grocery with Jon?”

He decided to ignore that jab and simply said, “Bacon, cheese, and mushroom omelette then.”

“Okay.” She turned to leave, and he suddenly thought of something. “Arya, wait. I want to ask you something.”

“I have to give them your breakfast order if you want to eat,” she said. “Hang on.” Then she walked out into the hall and over to the railing that overlooked the great room below. “Bran!” she shouted. “Tell Mom she was right! Bacon, cheese and mushroom!” Without awaiting a reply, she walked back into the bedroom. “What?” she said, looking at Ned.

He shook his head. “Arya, it’s rude to shout from room to room.”

She shrugged. “You said you had to ask me something. And Bran was right there. Besides, you and Jon and I yell back and forth all the time at your place. So why do you care now?”

Again, she spoke truly. The rule about actually seeking out the person you need to speak with instead of screaming for them was Catelyn’s, but he’d rather liked that one little nod to order and civility in their frequently chaotic house with six children usually running in six different directions. He’d not even realized he’d abandoned it since moving out until Arya mentioned it now, and here in Winterfell, he’d just automatically fallen back into enforcing the long held family prohibition on conversations screamed over unacceptable distances. He wondered if it were Catelyn’s presence or if he would have felt compelled to honor her rules here even if she hadn’t been forced to come. He sighed. “It doesn’t matter, really. Shut the door.”

She raised a brow at him, reminding him forcefully of the mother she mistakenly believed she was nothing like, but shut the door and turned back around to face him again without speaking.

“What do you know about your mother and Roose Bolton?” he asked abruptly. 

She folded her arms across her chest and simply looked at him, and he realized he’d probably sounded like an interrogator. He probably should have given her some sort of lead-in to the question, but he wanted answers. As hard as he tried to keep it out of his brain, the thought of Catelyn and Bolton together hadn’t stayed long out of it since Rickon’s expressed desire to hit the man a week ago. And last night, Catelyn had looked stunned when he threw out the man’s name, but she hadn’t actually denied it. He had to know the truth. “Jon suggested that I ask you about it,” he said, attempting to keep his voice calm and less demanding than a moment ago.

“No, he didn’t,” Arya replied. “Jon wouldn’t just tell you anything I’ve ever told him, and he sure wouldn’t just suggest that you ask me about that for no reason.” Her arms remained crossed, and she stood as still as a statue.

Ned ran his hand through his hair. “He didn’t,” he said. “Rickon . . . saw something. He told me about it, and I . . .”

“Rickon?” Arya interrupted. “That little shit was supposed to be in bed!”

“In bed? When? What did he see, Arya?”

She clamped her mouth shut and bit her lower lip, again reminiscent of Catelyn.

“Arya,” Ned was almost pleading with his daughter now. “Please. I don’t trust Bolton, and I’m worried about her. I need to know the truth.”

She chewed on her lip a moment before responding. “You shouldn’t trust Bolton. But you’re not worried about her. You’re jealous!” she accused him.

He swallowed. “Maybe I am jealous,” he admitted. “Your mother and I have been married a long time. It isn’t easy letting go. But I am worried about her.” A part of his brain was practically screaming that this was not an appropriate conversation to have with his thirteen year old daughter, but as she was the only one who could potentially give him answers about this, he stubbornly ignored it. “I don’t want her to get hurt,” he said softly.

“Bullshit,” Arya said, looking furious.

“Arya Minisa Stark, you will not speak to me like that,” Ned nearly shouted at her before lowering his voice as he recalled that anyone in his family could wander by the room at any moment. “I don’t care how angry you are. You will not curse at me. You will not curse at your mother. Do you understand me?” Those words were spoken quietly but with definite authority, and Arya nodded.

“I’m sorry I cursed,” she said, not sounding terribly repentant at all. “But if you didn’t want to hurt Mom, maybe you shouldn’t have walked out on her. Maybe you shouldn’t have filed for divorce. Maybe you shouldn’t practically play house with your ex-girlfriend and expect her to not to think anything of it. And definitely, you shouldn’t do all that and then demand answers about anything she’s doing with anybody.”

Ned felt like he’d been punched. Arya’s words didn’t begin to encompass all the truth of what had happened. But hearing them spoken so bluntly, he couldn’t deny he’d done those very things—even if the reality was much more complicated than she’d made it sound. “Arya,” he said softly. “I never wanted any of this. I . . .” He shook his head. He couldn’t explain it. _She’s thirteen years old_ , he thought. _However bright she is, she can’t possibly understand what’s between Catelyn and me._ He looked at his daughter, so angry and hurt and defiant and scared all at once. _I have no right to do this to her._ “Forgive me, Arya. I have no right to do this to you. You can go on downstairs if you’d like.”

He sat down on the bed, expecting her to go, but instead she came and sat beside him. “You had no right to ask Jon about it, either. He doesn’t really know anything, Dad. I just needed somebody to talk to, and Jon . . . well, Jon always listens to me. He doesn’t treat me like a kid.”

“You are a kid, Arya,” Ned said with a very small smile, reaching out to ruffle her head. “A smart kid who’s growing up much too fast, but a kid all the same. And you deserve parents who just let you be a kid instead of pulling you into our own mess.”

“Now you sound like Mom. She told me and Sansa kind of the same thing this morning. That she’s supposed to protect us instead of the other way around. And she jumped on me for calling you and idiot and Ashara a stupid woman.”

Ned sighed. “We’re trying, you know. Your mom and me. We just don’t know how to do it yet. This . . . what do they call it? Co-parenting? We never really planned to be raising you from different houses, you know.”

“We wouldn’t mind if you went back to doing it the old way,” Arya said, suddenly sounding even younger than her thirteen years.

“Arya,” Ned said. “We can’t go back, sweetheart. We all have to figure out how to go forward.” He wondered if he was trying to convince her or himself. “And if your mother wants to find companionship with Roose Bolton or any other man, I’ll simply have to accept that. As long as you children are . . .”

“Jesus, Dad!” Arya exclaimed, jumping off the bed and looking down at him. “What the hell did Rickon tell you? You really believe Mom would be with that creep, don’t you? You listened to some dumb story from a six-year-old who also thinks he sees Santa’s sleigh in the sky every Christmas Eve and then went to Jon for information and now me. I can’t believe you.”

“I didn’t go to Jon for information, Arya,” Ned exclaimed in exasperation. “He overheard me saying something to your mother and . . .”

“Oh my God!! You asked _Mother_ about him?!?” She looked horrified as she stood there shaking her head. “You can ground me until I’m eighty if you want Dad, but you really are stupid. How could you do that to her?” His daughter looked ready to cry, and Ned found himself truly more worried than jealous about whatever had gone on between Catelyn and Roose Bolton.

Technically, he hadn’t asked her about the man, but he didn’t feel Arya would appreciate being told he’d more accused her than anything else. “We were arguing. We both said some things we shouldn’t have. And I’m certain she regrets it as much as I do.”

Arya swallowed. “What did she say? About Bolton, I mean. What did she tell you?” Ned couldn’t understand the panic on her face.

“Nothing,” he said slowly. “Jon came to the door, and she left. But, Arya, you’re scaring me. Please tell me why you’re frightened. And don’t tell me you aren’t frightened because I can see that you are.”

“Mom doesn’t know,” she said hoarsely. “She doesn’t know I saw . . . and I don’t think she wants anyone to know about it.”

“About what? What happened, Arya?”

“You can’t tell her. If I tell you what happened, you can’t tell Mom you know. No matter how upset you get, you can’t do anything. Do you promise?” He stared at her in stunned silence. “You have to promise! You won’t tell anybody you know. Promise me, Dad!”

 _You have to promise. Promise me, Ned._ Ned felt lightheaded as his daughter echoed his sister’s words. That promise had started them on the path to this place. Now, he was being asked to keep yet something else from his wife, and he wanted to shout that he could never promise such a thing again. But this was Catelyn’s own secret, not his, and his need for the truth superseded any guilt or fear brought about by the echoes of the past. “Tell me, Arya. I promise. I’ll not breathe a word.”

She took a deep breath and even seemed to relax marginally, just as Lyanna had all those years ago. She even looked a lot like Lyanna, although she was much younger than Lya had been when she’d breathed in the peace of complete confidence in Ned’s promise. After all that he’d put their family through, it shamed Ned that Arya believed in his promises just as much as her aunt had. Only Catelyn knew how deceitful he could truly be. Or how much his promises could cost those he loved most.

“I don’t know when it started exactly,” she said slowly, walking around the room as she spoke, “Mr. Bolton creeping on Mom, I mean. I’m not at Mom’s except on Fridays and every other weekend so maybe the others saw it before I did.”

 _Creeping on Mom?_ Ned very much wanted to interrupt and ask Arya what she meant by that, but she now that she had begun talking, she seemed intent on telling her tale so he he remained silent. 

“I knew he was after her when Sansa texted me about the gutter.”

“The gutter?” Ned couldn’t help himself then.

“The one on the side of the house that’s been loose forever. You know. You’ve been saying you needed to fix it forever.” Ned didn’t think he imagined the accusation in her eyes then. “That really big thunderstorm we had at the end of September knocked the whole thing off the house. Sansa said it was a mess, and Mr. Creepy volunteered to repair it.”

“What? My God, Arya! I never knew the house was damaged. Why didn’t Catelyn call me?”

“Oh, gee, Dad. I don’t know. Maybe it had something to do with the divorce papers she’d just gotten. With no phone call. No warning. No anything but some dude at the door saying, ‘You’ve been served.’” She looked directly at him. “That was really shitty, you know. I don’t care what she did. I don’t even care if everything that made you leave was totally her fault. She didn’t deserve that.”

“It’s what she wanted,” Ned whispered, recalling the last conversation he and Catelyn had had before he’d filed. They’d argued again. The same damn arguments they’d been resurrecting since she’d learned the truth of Jon’s parentage. With no resolution. They’d been in the parking lot of the damn pharmacy, of all places, and it had been blazing hot. They’d each gotten notifications on their cell phones that a refill on Sansa’s allergy medicine was ready and both had gone to pick it up, running into each other there. Finally, he’d asked her, _You obviously won’t listen and you won’t change your mind on any of this. So tell me, Catelyn, what do I do now?_

She’d looked so tired and sad, and she was silent a long moment before speaking. _Do whatever you’ve decided to do, Ned. I’ve nothing else to say except that I can’t do this anymore. I’m done._ She’d walked back to her car with Sansa’s prescription in her hands without saying another word, and it had slowly dawned on him that his wife had told him goodbye. He hadn’t believed it at first, but when she’d made no attempt to contact him for over a week, he’d accepted that she wanted him out of her life, and he’d gone to the courthouse to give her what she wanted.

“What she wanted,” Arya repeated incredulously. “If you honestly believe that, you’re worse than stupid. She was wrecked when that showed up. You know Mom. She tried really hard not to let us see it, but damn. She was wrecked, Dad.” 

“I never . . . at the meetings with the lawyer, she was . . . she never said she didn’t want it,” Ned said lamely, painfully aware that he was attempting to justify himself to his _child_ and that he probably sounded a bit like a child himself. 

Arya chose not to even respond to that, simply rolling her eyes. “Anyway, she wasn’t going to call you for help. He did a good job on the gutter, by the way. He’d helped her with other stuff around the house, too. Little stuff.” Ned couldn’t help feeling jealous and resentful at that while thinking guiltily that he should be grateful Catelyn had any help at all once he left. “So Mom apparently wanted to take him to dinner to thank him, and he picked a Friday night which kind of pissed me off because that’s my night with Mom, and I was already pissed off because you ditched all of us that Thursday to go to some stupid work picnic of Ashara’s. We barely even saw you, and Thursday is supposed to be your day with _us_.”

“Arya, she didn’t want to go alone, and she’d done so much for me. I was home before you all went to bed.” Ned hated how defensive he sounded.

“Whatever. It pissed all of us off. Especially with mom getting the divorce papers the week before. That’s why Rickon played you Friday morning.”

“Played me?” Ned asked.

“He wasn’t sick.”

“He was burning up!”

“Only his forehead. And that was from a washrag he’d put in hot water. I saw it in a tv show and tried to pull it on Mom in the fifth grade once to get out of a science test I didn’t study for. She didn’t fall for it, of course, but Rickon really wanted to go home, and I figured you might be easier to con, so I helped him. And I was right.” She shrugged. Ned felt he should admonish her or something, but decided he cared more about hearing the rest of her story. “Mom figured out he wasn’t sick about an hour after she got him, but I guess if he wanted to be home with her bad enough to fake a fever, she’d let it slide. When I got home from school, I was kinda pissed about the whole dinner with Mr. Creepy thing, but then I figured I could get back at you.”

“Get back at me?”

“For the divorce. For ditching us for Ashara the day before. For not even being able to tell that your own kid was totally lying about being sick. I was pissed at you for lots of stuff, Dad.” Her eyes teared up again, and Ned wanted to rise from the bed, to go to her and hug her and tell her it was all right, but he didn’t think she’d want that right now so he waited for her to speak again. “She thought she’d have to cancel the dumb dinner because of Rickon but since we both knew he wasn’t sick, I told her she should go, and I’d watch him. See, I wanted her to go out to dinner. I knew Mr. Creepy would come back home with her, and Mom’s too polite to just kick somebody out, so I was gonna take pictures of the two of them together and make you think she was dating him.” She looked at him almost apologetically. “I thought you were banging Ashara then, remember?”

“So you don’t believe that anymore?” he asked her. 

She shook her head. “Nah. We all saw you looking at Mom yesterday. I still think Ashara wants you, Dad. But you don’t look at her like that.”

Ned decided to let that comment go. “Go on, Arya.”

“They were gone a lot longer than Mom said they would be, and when they came back, she was laughing. I hadn’t seen Mom laugh in ages, and I got worried. I mean I wanted Mom to be happy, but not with Mr. Creepy.”

Ned tried very hard to keep breathing evenly.

“We were watching the first Avengers movie. Rickon never gets tired of that one. They came in when it was almost over. Mom sat on the couch, and Rickon jumped right in her lap like a ninja!” She grinned. “The little squirt froze Mr. Creepy right out. Rather than trying to sit beside them, he sat in your chair. I didn’t particularly like that, but at least he wasn’t on the couch with Mom. When the movie ended, I told her I’d take Rickon up and lie down in her bed with him til he fell asleep so she didn’t have to leave her guest. She looked at me like I’d grown an extra head or something, but then just thanked me. I thought Rick might protest, but he was still pretending to be sick. He didn’t actually know Mom was on to him, and he thought he needed to stay sick all weekend to avoid getting shipped back to your place.” Those words hurt Ned, but he said nothing, and Arya continued.

“When we got upstairs, I told him I had go back down just for a little while, but that I’d sneak him something from the kitchen if he promised to stay in bed. And the little shit promised. I guess he didn’t keep it, though.” She sighed. “When I got back downstairs, sure enough, old Creeper had moved to the couch with Mom and had his arm on the back of the couch behind her. I took a picture of that.”

“They didn’t see you?”

She shook her head. “I was behind them, and I can be very quiet when I want to be. I gradually got myself into the kitchen. I could see them pretty easily from there and it’s easy to hide in there. I don’t know what they were watching, but he finally moved his arm down around her, and she kind of jumped. She turned to him and said something like, ‘Roose, I don’t think . . .’ and he interrupted to tell her she was beautiful and leaned in to kiss her. She just sat there for a second with his face all up in hers, but I think she was just too shocked to move. She wiggled away from him and stood up then and said something about being flattered, but nope. I mean that’s not what she said, but that was what she meant. And she started walking toward the door, obviously to show the loser out, and he got up and followed her. Only when they got to the door, he reached out and grabbed her and said something I couldn’t hear, and she looked really shocked. But he just pulled her right up to him and started kissing her again, and she was trying to get him off her, and I didn’t know what to do, and . . . Dad, it was awful.” Arya looked very young just then with tears in her eyes again. “I knew I should yell or go attack him or . . . something. But I just stood there! And Mom wasn’t yelling. She was telling him to stop, but being really quiet about it. Finally, she got an arm free and shoved him hard which got him off her. Then she just drew her arm back and slapped him and told him to get the hell out of her house. She was still being really quiet, but she used that voice that scares us all to death. He didn’t say anything, I don’t think. He just left. And then Mom sat down in the floor and cried a really long time.”

Ned could barely breathe. He wanted to drive to King’s Landing and tear Roose Bolton apart with his bare hands. He wanted to go downstairs and hold on to Catelyn and never let her go. He wanted to erase that heartbreaking expression from his daughter’s face and wipe the memory that put it there from her mind. But he could do none of those things. So he simply sat there on his bed and tried to remember how to breathe.

“I was stuck in the kitchen until she finally went up to bed,” Arya said after a long time. “So I couldn’t take anything to Rickon. He was in her room. I don’t know when he went back up there. I didn’t even know he’d come down. He must have stayed on the steps. But I guess he was either asleep or pretending to be asleep when Mom got there. She can usually tell if we’re pretending, but she was pretty upset.” She’d been looking down at her feet, but now looked up at Ned. “She stayed quiet because of us, didn’t she?” she asked. “She didn’t want us to hear and be scared.”

“Yes.” Catelyn would do anything to protect their children. If she hadn’t gotten the damn man to stop, she wouldn’t have screamed even if he’d actually raped her. She’d have fought him tooth and nail, but she would never risk bringing her children anywhere near the man.

“That’s why you can’t tell her I saw, Daddy. It would crush her.” The tears began spilling out of Arya’s eyes. She hadn’t called him Daddy in years. Only Sansa and Rickon ever did that. “I . . . I don't know what to do about Rickon. I can’t believe he never said anything to me.”

“He tried to tell me,” Ned said, wondering how much his son had seen. “Only I didn’t understand. He was half asleep and told me he would punch Roose Bolton the next time he kissed Mommy.”

“Oh, poor Rick! Maybe I should talk to him. He’s so little he pretty much tells Mom everything, and . . .”

Ned shook his head. “I’ll talk to Rickon. But, Arya, while I will keep my promise and not speak to your mother about what you told me, I can’t forbid Rickon to tell her. I can’t forbid any of you children to speak truthfully to your mother. I just can’t.”

“But, Mom will . . .”

“I will try to help him understand that it’s over, that his mother is safe, and that Roose Bolton will never come near her again. If he hasn’t said anything to her yet, he probably understands on some level that she wouldn’t have wanted him to see, even if he can’t understand all of it. Did you tell anyone other than Jon?”

Arya shook her head. “Sansa would have been a mess. Mom would know something was wrong with her right away. Bran’s still in elementary school. I don’t want him to know. And if I told Robb . . . well, Mr. Creepy would be dead now. Robb’s a pain in the ass sometimes, but I don’t want him to go to jail.”

Ned smiled rather grimly. “I don’t think your brother would actually commit murder, but I do agree that he’d not take it well. I’m afraid he’s been close to doing violence to me more than once recently.”

“He’s not the only one,” Arya muttered.

Ned closed his eyes against the pain of those words. He knew she spoke honestly, and he wondered how the hell he had managed to underestimate so badly the hurt he had caused all his children. When he opened his eyes again, Arya was looking at him sadly.

“Dad,” she said. “I don’t hate you. None of us do. But I am mad at you. I was so mad at Mom when you left. Well, you know that. You heard all the awful things I said about her. I was convinced that she’d said or done something awful to Jon or told you that he should never have been born or something. And I know what you did was wrong. But, Dad, I love Jon! I can’t imagine not having him as my brother. So it makes me mad knowing that she wishes he didn’t exist. And so it’s easy to blame her when anything bad happens with Jon. But . . . Jon kept telling me that she hadn’t done anything to him. That she was just kind of sad. And kind of lost. But he’s the one who had to leave the house with you, and I didn’t believe him. I kept waiting for her to say something bad about him or act like she was glad he was gone. And she never did. And I was horrible. I did everything in the world to get her to admit she hated him. I was so mean. And then when I started staying with you and Jon more, I realized Jon really wasn’t mad at her. Not about this, anyway. He was mad at you. He wouldn’t tell me why, though. And I know you were mad at her over Jon because sometimes you two argue louder than you think and we hear things. And I thought, how can Dad be mad at Mom about Jon when Jon isn’t even mad? How does that make sense?”

“Arya, I can’t explain everything that . . .” Ned said hoarsely.

“Yeah, I know. You can’t explain everything that’s happened between you and Mom. We’ve all heard it a million times. From both of you. But you know what, Dad? We may just be a bunch of kids, but we aren’t stupid. And the longer this goes on, the less sense it makes. But I do think I’ve figured one thing out.”

He looked at her, simply waiting for her to continue.

“It’s you,” she said finally. “Whatever thing started this train wreck. Whatever the two of you can’t or won’t tell us. It’s yours. Something you did. Not Mom. And she’s refusing to rat you out to us while you’re quizzing us on whether or not she’s hooking up with Roose Bolton. So yeah, I’m mad at you. For whatever it is you did. And now because I don’t understand how anybody who knows Mom at all could believe she’d be with anybody but you, and yet you believed it. I’m mad at you for acting like you don’t know Mom at all.”

She left then without saying another word, closing the door softly behind her as if she understood he couldn’t quite leave the room yet. His eye fell upon the framed picture that sat on the dresser. It wasn’t a formal portrait. He’d snapped it of Catelyn with his phone the year after Rickon was born while she was running toward him with a snowball in her hand, arm drawn back ready to throw. She was laughing. Her hat had fallen half off her head so that her hair was blowing in her face, obscuring a bit of her left cheek and the left side of her mouth. But her eyes were both clearly visible, bluer than the most beautiful sky and filled with all the love and laughter in the world. He’d been defenseless against her attack as he’d been more interested in getting the picture than protecting himself and she’d pelted him right in the face. Then she’d tackled him and told him to put his phone away and come play with her. Those had been her exact words. _Come play with me._ She loved to play. Not everyone knew that about her—that playful side. Pillar of the community, incredibly smart and talented literary agent, dedicated mother of five--everyone knew those things about her, but Ned knew her when she was silly. When she was heartbroken. When she was swept away with passion. When her mind was firmly set. When she could change her mind in an instant. When she was vulnerable. When she was almost impossibly strong. When she cried at songs and books and movies. When she laughed for no reason but the joy of laughter. When she was brave. When she was terrified. When she was so many things all at once.

He stood and walked to the dresser to pick up the little framed photo. He loved this picture because it captured his Catelyn. One she didn’t always show the world, but one she’d never hidden from him. He knew Catelyn better than he knew anyone. 

And Arya was right. He’d been behaving as if he didn’t know her at all.

After a moment, he put the photo back on the dresser and looked at himself in the mirror. 

_Do whatever you’ve decided to do, Ned. I’ve nothing else to say except that I can’t do this anymore. I’m done._

Catelyn wasn’t a quitter. She’d been done with having the same conversation over and over again. She couldn’t keep doing that. Neither of them could. And they hadn’t been able to get past it. She was done with being stuck. And she knew him well enough to know that he wouldn’t change his mind about telling Jon. So she’d told him to do what he’d already decided upon, knowing that her insistence upon changing his mind had them stuck. She hadn’t known what to do any more than he had, but she’d known they couldn’t keep doing the same thing. And he’d believed she’d given up on them. He’d been the one to quit.

_Do whatever you’ve decided to do, Ned._

He didn’t know to do. He felt less certain and more afraid, but somehow a tiny bit more hopeful than he’d been in a long time.

_Do whatever you’ve decided to do, Ned._

While he honestly couldn’t think of any course of action that would bridge the chasm between himself and his wife, Ned decided he would try to find one. He decided he would begin by going downstairs and apologize for letting his omelette get cold. Then he’d decide on the next step and pray that he hadn’t been stuck in his hurt and anger too long to make a bridge even possible. And pray that Catelyn wasn’t too stuck in her own hurt and anger to meet him halfway across it.


	3. December 23rd--the rest of the day

“Mmmm. I swear these things are sinfully good,” Catelyn murmured, closing her eyes as she savored the little lemon cake she’d popped into her mouth.

Jon’s laughter caused her to open her eyes again and regard him standing at the sink, drying the last of the baking sheets with a festively patterned dish towel. “You’re making me feel guilty, Jon—over there doing the dishes while I sit here with my feet propped up eating sweets,” she told him.

“Don’t,” he said simply. “You’ve been on your feet non-stop since you came downstairs this morning. Have you even left this kitchen?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. But you’ve not left too many times yourself.”

He shrugged. “I’ve taken breaks. I took the time to lose two football games to Bran on the Xbox anyway.”

It was her turn to laugh then. “When will the rest of you learn that there are certain games he cannot be defeated on?” She lowered her feet which had been propped up on one of the kitchen chairs and stood up from the chair she’d been sitting on. “I do thank you for all your help, though.”

He shrugged once again. “I think everybody helped a lot this year.” 

“Well,” she said, sighing as she picked up the freshly cleaned baking sheets to put them away. “We certainly had more help than usual. I’m afraid my children think I’m fragile. They keep looking at me as if I might break.”

“You won’t break.” He hung up the towel and turned to look at her. “They just know you’re sad, that’s all. And they love you.”

“Jon . . . I’m so sorry you heard your father and me arguing last night.”

“I didn’t hear that much. And it’s not like we don’t all know the two of you have been arguing. You are getting divorced, after all.”

 _We are divorced._ Catelyn thought of that paper lying on her desk back in King’s Landing.

“Still . . . we shouldn’t argue in front of you children.”

“Why not, Catelyn?” he asked her. The question wasn’t sullen or defiant as it undoubtedly would have been a few years ago. The two of them had gone through a very rough patch during his very early teens, but he met her eyes and asked this question now as if he simply wanted an answer. When she didn’t speak, he continued. “Is it better to shout at each other in secret and make all of us try to guess what’s wrong? Because pretending everything’s fine doesn’t work when you’re in the middle of a divorce. If things were fine, you wouldn’t be getting a divorce, would you?”

“No,” she sighed. “We wouldn’t. And I didn’t mean that we should keep secrets from all of you, Jon. I only mean that we should be able to speak to each other civilly for your sake at least. No child deserves to be caught in their parents’ crossfire.”

“They are, though,” Jon said flatly. “You can’t avoid that no matter what you do. You and Dad are breaking up our family whether you yell at each other where we can hear you or not. And I can’t help but think we deserve to know why.”

She heard the echoes of her daughters’ frustration in his words. Arya had been unnaturally quiet when she’d finally come downstairs after going to get her father’s breakfast order earlier. She’d been up there forever so Catelyn assumed she and Ned must have had some sort of conversation. Ned had taken even longer to come down, and he’d been quiet as well. Of course, Ned was always rather quiet, but he’d clearly been focused on something inside his own head more than usual. He’d thanked her for breakfast and hadn’t spoken much more to her or anyone else as she and Sansa, Jon, and Rickon cleared away breakfast dishes and began the day’s cookie and cake extravaganza. He’d sat in the kitchen for a long time even after he finished eating, and she’d felt his eyes on her. Rickon had asked him if he was going to help them bake cookies, but Sansa had shut that down immediately. 

_This is Mom’s thing, Rickon,_ she had said, looking at Ned meaningfully. _Mom’s and ours. Daddy doesn’t make cookies._

Ned had left the kitchen shortly after that, but Catelyn couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d wanted to say something. She honestly had no idea where he’d been since then. All of the kids had wandered in and out of the kitchen through the morning and early afternoon, offering help or distraction in varying degrees, sneaking bites of cookie dough and cake batter and freshly baked treats right out of the oven, and requesting lunch when noon rolled around. But Ned hadn’t come back at all. She wondered if he was hungry. It was mid-afternoon now.

“You disagree with that?”

Jon’s question penetrated her musings, and she realized she’d been quiet too long. “No,” she said. “I don’t disagree at all. The problem, Jon, is that the reasons are not simple. And I cannot explain to any of you things that I don’t fully understand, myself.” Unsure of what else she could say, she bit her lip.

“You do that when you’re thinking hard about what to say or when you’re trying to keep from saying anything at all. Which is it?”

“What?”

“You’re biting your lip. Arya does the same thing and for the same reasons. So I’m wondering if you’re trying to keep from telling me something or honestly trying to figure out how to tell me something.”

“I wasn’t aware you studied my facial mannerisms so closely,” Catelyn said, not wanting to respond to the fact that his assessment had been alarmingly accurate or that she wasn’t certain which she was trying to do, herself.

Jon shrugged and turned away from her. It occurred to Catelyn that Jon had only begun to ask her questions more or less freely in the last couple years, and maybe he’d spent the previous years studying her face in an attempt to get answers to questions he was afraid to ask her. That made her feel sad and more than a little guilty.

“Jon,” she said softly. “I meant what I told you last evening. None of this is your fault. It never has been. You’ve done nothing wrong.” Whatever else she’d felt about Jon’s presence in their lives, she’d always known that to be true. She hoped he could hear the honesty of her words as easily as he’d read the hesitation on her face a moment ago.

He turned back around to face her. “I know that what Dad did when he . . . well, I know it’s not my fault I was born. And it’s not my fault my mother died. But, I used to do things to make you mad on purpose. I did an awful lot of rotten things just to get you to yell at me. To get Dad to take sides. Or Robb or Arya or everybody, really. And you knew what I was doing. I know you did.”

“Jon, you were twelve then.”

“And thirteen and fourteen and . . .”

“You were a child. You’re little more than a child now, whether you want to believe that or not. And I thought we’d put those years behind us.”

He looked very young to her then, staring at her with those eyes so like Arya’s, obviously wanting to say something but afraid of speaking. 

“I thought so, too,” he whispered. “But then you and Dad started fighting, and he came to me that day and just said we had to leave, the two of us. And we did. I haven’t been back to the house since August. I just remember how sometimes I used to wish that . . . well, I can’t help wondering if I finally got what I wanted--if this is Dad trying to take my side now. Because I never . . . I don’t know what the hell I wanted, but it wasn’t this. I’d never want this. But some of the things I used to say . . .”

“Jon, please sit down,” Catelyn interrupted, hating that her words sounded like a command. She found herself wondering exactly what Ned had told him about the divorce. Not the truth, obviously. Ned steadfastly maintained that Jon should never know the truth in spite of Catelyn’s insistence that he undoubtedly would find out at least some of it on his own one day. It was just dumb luck that he’d never asked about the letter from the blood bank, the one Ned had shredded. Robb’s relative disinterest in his own or anybody else’s blood type or in Catelyn’s brief lesson to him on inheritance patterns had thus far prevented him from ever mentioning anything to Jon, but how long before something else came up? Jon had expressed interest in trying to learn more about his mother on more than one occasion over the years, and Ned had always shut him down telling him that discovering any further information on her was impossible. But Jon was growing up. He and Robb would both be off to college in less than a year, and what would prevent him from attempting to search on his own? Could simply searching put him in the danger Ned feared was so very real? Or expose that the history he’d been given was a lie?

Jon sat down as she’d requested, and she took the seat across from him. She wasn’t certain how much she could or should say to him now. She couldn’t tell him of his true parentage, but she had to say something to this boy whom she’d raised and yet had also wronged in so many small ways that she hadn’t realized how those things had added up over the years until it was too late for her to undo it. “Nothing you’ve ever said to me is the reason for Ned and I divorcing, Jon,” she said as clearly and steadily as she could. She had begun to believe that she’d never be able to say ‘Ned and I divorcing’ aloud without it tearing her apart, but Jon needed to hear and believe that he was not responsible in any way for this divorce. And maybe she could at least give him that.

“Jon! Jon! Come on! The snow slowed way down and Dad’s getting the sleds out and we’re . . .” Bran had run into the kitchen like a hurricane shouting as a came in, but his voice trailed off as he took in the sight of the two of them just sitting there at the table facing each other. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

“Not at all, Bran,” Catelyn said in the falsely bright voice she’d found herself using to speak to her children entirely too often over the past months. “We just finished up in here and are taking a rest. Go on and get your snow things, and Jon will be out in a moment.”

Bran looked from her to Jon and back to her, suspicion written all over his face. “You are going to let him come out, right?”

“Of course, I’m coming outside, Bran!” Jon said hurriedly, and Catelyn thought his cheerful tone was possibly even worse than her own although his voice sounded more natural as he continued speaking. “I’m not gonna miss sledding. We also owe Robb, Arya, and Rickon back for last year’s snowball fight!”

Bran groaned. “Can’t we take Arya this year and give Sansa to Robb? She’s terrible!”

“Nope. Sansa and Rickon have to be on opposite teams. You know the rule. You could defect to Robb if you want, and give me Arya.”

“You think you could beat us with only girls on your team?” Bran said incredulously.

“Yep. I’ve got big plans this year, little brother. I’m gonna beat Robb no matter who’s on my team. I just figured I’d keep you and Sansa so you two could get your revenge, but suit yourself.”

Bran considered carefully, and Catelyn smiled in spite of her own turmoil. At age eleven, Bran took snowball fights very seriously, but then so did all her children. And their father. She’d even become rather competitive about them herself when she participated over the years. It was very much a Stark thing. “I’ll stick with your team.” Bran looked toward her again before turning back to Jon. “You’re sure you’re coming out soon?”

“Yeah, Bran. Your mom’s been telling me I’ve earned a long break forever since I’m not as lazy as you people, but I just want to talk to her for a few minutes, okay?”

Bran’s expression then left no doubt that he found the idea of Jon simply wanting to have a conversation with Catelyn when they weren’t actually working to accomplish some task very odd, but he just shrugged and said, “Don’t be too long!”

Rickon’s voice came from another room. “Bran! Where are my new boots? Daddy says my old ones are too little!”

“Probably still in the car,” Catelyn said calmly, addressing Bran. She always had to buy all of them new snow boots every year as their feet grew at such an alarming rate. Sansa’s size hadn’t changed this year, but even Robb had still gone up a half-size. She’d barely remembered to throw them all in the trunk of the car when they’d made their mad dash to Winterfell in an attempt to beat the snow yesterday, and she didn’t think anyone had brought them in during the storm. “Have Robb or your father go out and get them for everyone. And Bran, hats AND gloves for everyone. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am!” Bran answered, dashing away then before he could be given further instructions.

“I’ll make sure everybody’s in hats and gloves when I go out,” Jon said. He didn’t move from his chair, however, and she knew he was waiting for her to speak further.

Taking a deep breath, she began to speak, hoping her words would do more good than harm. “I know you were angry with me for a long time, Jon. You’re still angry with me.” She held up a hand to silence his protest. “Not all the time. Not even most of the time. But sometimes. Even sometimes when you know really shouldn’t be.” She watched his face closely then and could tell she’d struck a nerve. She’d often resented just how much he looked like her husband, but her intimate familiarity with Ned’s face and expressions did help her see emotions Jon tried to hide from her. _When I’ve taken the time to look._ “You see, I know quite a bit about feeling things about a person even when I know I shouldn’t.”

She closed her eyes a moment, wondering if he was still too young for some truths. Wondering if the sins of her past still had the power to hurt him as they had when he was small. “When your father brought you home, Jon, he told me the story of how he met your mother during a very difficult time in his life. And as you’ve gotten older, he’s told you pretty much all he told me then.” She paused, and he nodded in confirmation. “He loved me, Jon. And he knew he’d hurt me so he tried very, very hard to make certain I knew he loved me.” She smiled sadly. “And I did know it. I knew the words he spoke about his feelings for me were true. But I knew something more. Something he didn’t say.” It was hard to look at Jon while she spoke about this, but she forced herself to maintain eye contact so that he would know she was speaking truthfully. 

“I watched him, you see. I watched him all the time. With Robb. With you. Even with other women for awhile. I felt insecure if he so much as smiled at a woman waiting on us in a restaurant or ringing up our groceries. I’d been so blindsided by your . . . existence . . . that I spent a very unhealthy amount of time trying to figure out why he did what he did and how I could ever be certain that he wouldn’t do it again. I knew he loved me, yet he’d betrayed me. So, how could I trust him?”

“I’m sorry, Catelyn. I’m so, so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she almost snapped. Then she took a deep breath, and repeated it more softly. “Don’t be, Jon. It was never your fault although I do admit I sometimes wished you weren’t there to remind me every day of my own fears. I knew that was wrong, of course. And I never, ever asked Ned to send you away. He wouldn’t have done it any case, mind you. Ned has never once considered you any less his child than any of our children. But I wouldn’t have wanted him to. I wouldn’t take a child from his parent. Whether you believe that or not, it’s the truth.”

“I believe you,” Jon said immediately. She must have looked shocked because he continued. “Do you remember when I was twelve and you told me my mother loved me? After Robb got in the fight with Theon.”

“I remember.” She remembered that day very well. Robb had bloodied Theon’s nose for calling Jon’s mother a whore. Privately, Catelyn had long considered any woman who’d sleep with a man she knew to have a pregnant wife waiting for him at home at least somewhat deserving of the title, but since she’d long forgiven Ned his infidelity, she knew it was unfair to harbor such thoughts about the other woman, especially given what she knew (or had thought she’d known at the time) about Ned’s feelings for the woman. That incident had occurred not long after Jon had begun defying her in little ways almost daily—telling her he didn’t have to listen to her because she wasn’t his mother (Ned had raged at him over that and grounded him for a week), telling her children that she hated him and wanted him gone, responding to almost any question she asked him with ‘What do you care? I’m not even your kid.’ She’d been furious and frustrated with Jon over his behavior, furious and frustrated with Ned for seemingly thinking that a week’s grounding every so often would somehow magically correct the situation, and furious and frustrated with herself for failing to see just how much her own resentment very early on had led Jon to close himself off to her as much as she’d once closed herself off to him. 

Still, she’d been appalled when Robb told her what happened. Ned had been on one of those awful 3 or 4 day trips for Baratheon, and she knew she couldn’t just let the boy stew over Greyjoy’s words until his return. So she’d gone to speak to him, and rather like now, she’d been uncertain of what to say. She did tell him his mother wasn’t a whore, but then he’d asked if she hated his mother. That had stunned her a moment because she’d honestly believed she’d long since gotten over her hatred of the woman who’d taken her husband’s love and had learned to only pity the woman who had died and could never know her own child the way Catelyn did. But Jon’s recent behavior had Catelyn thinking rather uncharitably about Ned’s dead lover once more so she’d simply told Jon there was no point in hating the dead. It’s what she had been trying to tell herself for weeks after all. Jon hadn’t seemed very satisfied with her answer and had looked at her with that bit of challenge in his eyes that had become all too familiar and told her he wished he knew more about his mother. And she’d looked at that angry, hurt little boy and found herself feeling more sad than angry herself. So she’d assured him his mother had loved him. He’d seemed wary of her words but he’d listened. And he’d not acted out with her again until after Ned’s return.

She’d told him that his mother loved him, but she’d not found the strength or the compassion to tell him what she planned to tell him now. That Ned had loved his mother.

“You told me she loved me,” Jon said. “Dad never told me that. Not like you did. He told me she took care of me and how grateful he was that she gave to him, but . . . he never talked about how much she loved me. I never thanked you for that.”

“I didn’t expect you to.”

“But I do know you don’t really hate me. I think I knew it even then. I just kept convincing myself that you did. I don’t even know why I did that.”

“Because you were twelve. Because you knew I wasn’t your mother, and you knew I’d always felt differently about you than my own children—even if you couldn’t know what that difference was. And that is my fault, Jon, not yours. I resented you for a long time because of what I saw in Ned’s face when he looked at you.”

Jon’s grey eyes darkened a bit, and she clearly saw a bit of that old challenge in them. “You resented me because my father loved me?” he asked, the question sounding more like and accusation.

“No,” she said without hesitation. “You were his child. He wouldn’t be the man I loved had he not loved you. I told you I watched him carefully, and sometimes when he was alone with you I would see an expression that I know he tried hard to keep from his face. Longing. Grief. He loved you, yes, and he’s always found great joy in you. But looking at your face also brought him a terrible sadness, Jon. And the kind of longing you only feel for someone you deeply love. Ned looked at you and saw your mother. I looked at Ned and knew that whatever he’d told me, he loved your mother.”

Jon began shaking his head slowly. “That can’t be true. I know he loves you.”

“I know he does, too,” Catelyn said without hesitation. “And it killed me a bit inside to know that his love for me didn’t keep him from loving another woman. She was dead and couldn’t take him from me. I knew that. Yet, every time I caught him looking at you with that expression, I knew he was thinking of her, missing her. And I would see you then as a living reminder that my husband’s heart didn’t completely belong to me instead of a little boy who depended on me to take care of him. And I’d resent your being here to do that to me. I’m sorry for that, Jon. I’d tell myself that I didn’t feel that way most of the time, and that I felt it less and less as you got older. And both of those things are true. But it doesn’t change the fact that I allowed my own unfair feelings to affect the way you felt about your place within your own home and family. And that is entirely my fault.”

“But Dad . . .”

She held up her hand. “Your father certainly bears the responsibility for his own actions. I won’t deny that. But I bear the responsibility for mine. You, Jon, were a child. You are not responsible in any way. You know perfectly well that your presence in our family has caused some . . . difficulties . . . between Ned and me over the years, but I am telling you the truth when I say that you personally have never been responsible for any of that. As for your behavior in middle school---well, I think most children tend to challenge their parents at that age. And in your case, Ned and I have to accept most of the responsibility for creating the specific challenges you offered us.”

He was quiet for what seemed like a long time. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything, Jon. Just believe me when I tell you that Ned and I brought ourselves to this place. You had nothing to do with it.”

He shook his head. “That isn’t really true, though, is it? I mean, even if I didn’t do anything and it’s not my fault, I’m still the reason. If Dad never loved my mother and I was never born then this wouldn’t be happening.”

Catelyn closed her eyes. She should have realized he’d see it like that. He was a smart young man, but the world is so much more black and white at seventeen than it is past forty. “Yes, it would,” she said firmly. “While I can’t explain it clearly to you, and I won’t tell you every specific thing Ned and I have argued about, I will tell you that it doesn’t really matter in the end what the arguments are about. It’s more about the two of us losing our ability to work past those arguments, to move forward together, to care more about each other than about being right or getting our own way. It’s about no longer trusting each other enough to say the difficult things and listen to the difficult things without making it an argument or an accusation. I can’t explain it better than that, Jon, but the truth is that no person or event can take those things away from us. We had to let them slip away ourselves.

And while I told you that I was hurt by the fact that your father had loved your mother, I should also tell you that, oddly enough, that knowledge also helped me over time to trust him again. He isn’t a man to break a vow easily, nor has he ever been a man to seek out women purely for sexual gratification like his friend Robert does. The idea of his having a meaningless encounter with a stranger made me question everything I thought I knew about him. The fact that he loved her didn’t make what he did right, but it made it somehow more consistent with who he is. That he found himself loving someone in the middle of that hellish war made more sense to me than his forsaking all he holds dear for a one night stand. It didn’t make what he did right. And it sure as hell didn’t make it hurt less. But I could make sense of it. I could recognize the man I married. The man I loved. And I forgave him. And over time our love became stronger, Jon, not weaker, after you came into our life. All of your younger siblings and the years we’ve spent as a family are proof of that. If your existence in our lives was the root cause of our marriage ending now, it would have happened long ago. Your arrival into our lives was a challenge, Jon. I’ll not deny that. But we survived that challenge. Imperfectly, perhaps, but I’ve come across very few perfect families. We are a family. All of us. Including you. And Ned and I have torn that apart all on our own, Jon. Not one of you children has done anything to deserve this, and I am so sorry for how we have hurt all of you.” 

“I still don’t understand.”

“I know. If I told you I understood what’s happened to us completely, I’d be lying. And the one thing I don’t want to do is lie to you. Sometimes, the truth hurts more than you think is worth it. But in the end, a lie can cause a lot more permanent damage.”

“What the hell are you telling him, Catelyn?” Ned’s voice wasn’t loud at all, but it was cold as ice, and when she turned to see him standing in the door, his face was cold fury with a hint of fear beneath it. He looked as if he’d just come in from outside. The skin of his face visible above his beard was slightly reddened, and he was still wearing his coat and boots. 

“We’re just talking, Dad,” Jon said, looking at Ned as if he were some sort of unstable explosive device.

“What are you telling him?” Ned demanded again, still looking at Catelyn as if Jon hadn’t spoken.

“Nothing,” she said in a clipped voice, willing herself not shout or cry, “Except that the abrupt end of our marriage is entirely your fault and mine, and he shouldn’t blame himself for it.”

“And what about truth and lies?” Ned persisted. “I heard you talking about truth and lies.”

“Jesus, Dad! Give it a rest! She isn’t in here telling all your deep, dark secrets to get back at you if that’s what you think!” Jon stood up as he spoke, and his eyes looked alarmingly like Ned’s as father and son stared at each other. Of course, Catelyn knew that they weren’t father and son, but she could scarcely believe it as they stood there facing off in the kitchen with identical expressions on their faces.

“I won’t have you speak to me like that, Jon,” Ned said, turning to Jon for the first time and speaking in the voice that generally quieted even the angriest child.

“I won’t have you come in here and interrogate Catelyn like she’s on trial or something,” Jon returned, not backing down a bit.

She was rather stunned. Jon hadn’t been intentionally insulting to her in a long time and generally seemed not to mind her presence or even her participation in things he was doing over the past year or two, but she couldn’t ever recall his standing up to defend her. He’d certainly never defended her to Ned. She didn’t want the two of them fighting, though. “I haven’t told him anything that you wouldn’t want him to know,” she whispered hoarsely. “I wouldn’t do that. And there was a time when you knew you didn’t have to ask me, Ned.” She could feel the tears forming in her eyes and she stood up quickly. “I’m sorry, Jon,” she mumbled and then she hastily exited the kitchen, half expecting Ned to pursue her and question her further.

He didn’t though. She prayed that he and Jon weren’t shouting at each other in the kitchen. She prayed all her other children were outside the house. She felt she should probably return to the kitchen and try to smooth over the argument Ned and Jon were having since it was about her. But then she thought angrily about Ned leaving their home with Jon in tow, making it clear that he no longer wanted Catelyn’s participation in either of their lives, and decided her ex-husband could damn well deal with whatever Jon threw at him on his own. 

Feeling slightly shaky and uncertain about where she should go in what distressingly felt both like her own home and not her home, she wandered into the little library at the far end of the first floor. It was one of her favorite rooms at Winterfell. She’d loved books with a passion her entire life and Ned often told people that she only agreed to marry him after he told her his family home had an honest-to-God library in it. In truth, while the Starks had quite a few valuable old volumes in reasonably good condition, no one had done very much with the library in years before her marriage into the family, and she’d undertaken reorganizing and updating the place with great enthusiasm. As the children had come along and grown, she’d filled an entire wall with children’s and young adult books over the years. 

Now, however, she barely looked up at the shelves. Instead, she sat down in one of the comfortable cushioned chairs and began breathing deeply. She wasn’t going to cry. She refused. Instead, she was going to get herself together and then go outside with a shovel and dig her car out. If the snow had lightened, the snowplow would come through by tomorrow, and she was going to make damn certain she could get the car to the road and get the hell away from here. Winterfell, and Christmas, and the children’s questions and hurt, and just being around Ned were all making her crazy, and she didn’t know how much more she could take.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 

Ned stared at the kitchen doorway after Catelyn disappeared through it, standing there as if frozen to the floor until Jon’s voice caused him to turn around.

“Are you going to go after her?”

“Go after her?” he repeated as if he didn’t quite understand the words. In truth, Catelyn’s last words were echoing so loudly in his head that he barely heard Jon speak.

_There was a time when you knew you didn’t have to ask me, Ned._

He’d come downstairs that morning determined that he was going to talk with his wife. Talk with her. Not argue with her, but have an actual conversation with the woman he knew and loved better than anyone in the world. No jumping to conclusions. No acting from fear or anger. He’d barely had a moment with her all day which was largely due to his children’s more or less keeping him out of the kitchen in shifts. He knew their actions were deliberate. He’d had a momentary thought that Catelyn, wishing to avoid him, had put them up to it, but he dismissed it immediately and cursed himself for even thinking it in the first place as he knew damn well she’d never use their children in such a manner. No, his children had decided it was necessary to protect their mother from him. He couldn’t deny that hurt. But after Arya’s painfully blunt description of how recent events, and particularly his part in them, had been perceived at home by the children, he supposed they believed they had reason to feel protective of her. He honestly didn’t know how Catelyn felt about anything now, and having her here in Winterfell had made it increasingly clear to him that he needed to know. He felt rather like he’d been asleep for a very long time and awakened to realize he was strapped in a vehicle about to go over a cliff with no understanding of how he got there and no immediate idea of how to stop the crash. But he was going to try. He intended to start with a conversation once the baking was finished and he could approach her without the children throwing up roadblocks.

The winding down of the snowstorm had provided him both a perfect excuse to get all the kids out of the house and a sense of urgency to speak with Catelyn as the storm had been the only thing keeping her here.

And now he’d hurled accusations at her phased as questions and caused her to practically sprint out of the kitchen.

_There was a time when you knew you didn’t have to ask me, Ned._

“Yeah, Dad. Because if you wanna go after her to keep asking her stupid questions, you can just stay here and ask me. If you wanna go after her and apologize, be my guest.”

Jon was positively indignant on Catelyn’s behalf, something Ned had never seen before. As a young child, he’d been a bit reticent with her at times, seeming to understand early that she never embraced him with the same wild enthusiasm with which she did Robb and then Sansa and all the other children as they’d arrived. He’d never been openly disrespectful toward her though, until he reached the sixth grade. He’d tested every limit she set then and blamed her for every misfortune that befell him. Ned had hoped it was a phase which would pass quickly, and tried to discourage much of his negativity by ignoring it completely although he had issued rather severe punishments for the most egregious behaviors. Catelyn had gotten frustrated with him, stating that he had to be the one who set expectations and limits for Jon because he’d entirely stopped listening to her. But Ned wasn’t there all the time. She was. And she hadn’t always reacted well to Jon in those days. Ned knew perfectly well that the stories Jon brought to him were exaggerated, but Catelyn had been far from objective about Jon as well, and he’d often felt completely unable to intervene because he didn’t know what happened in the house when he was gone. Little Arya would tell him that Mom was always unfair to Jon, and Sansa would tell him that Jon was hateful to Mom. Robb tried desperately not to take sides, and Bran was too young to do much besides hide when any conflict was going on. Rickon, of course, had been just a baby then. Robb and Jon had finally come to physical blows the summer before they started high school, just after Jon’s 14th birthday, when Robb discovered that Jon had several boys who were friends of both them referring to Catelyn as Stepmonster. Whether their fight had knocked some sense into Jon or whether he’d simply grown up a bit, his antagonism toward Catelyn had lessened over the course of the boys’ freshman year, and by the time they were into their sophomore year, the house never felt like disputed territory occupied by rival factions anymore. Yet as cordial as Catelyn and Jon had become with each other, Ned had never seen Jon literally rise from a chair and defend her before today.

Once that would have thrilled him, but given the current situation, anything that made the two of them appear close worried him. And the realization that he worried about it shamed him.

“I wasn’t interrogating her, son. I simply wanted to know what the two of you were talking about. You know as well as I do that you’re not exactly given to long conversations with each other. I was curious.”

Jon rolled his eyes. “Yeah. You always curse when you’re curious.”

“What?” Ned asked, confused.

“You came in here and demanded to know what the hell she was telling me. Like I was six years old and she might be telling me that Santa Claus cooked and ate Rudolph for Christmas dinner or something. You were scary, Dad.” Jon didn’t sound as indignant as he had, but he did sound confused and a little scared, and Ned instantly felt even guiltier than he had.

_There was a time when you knew you didn’t have to ask me, Ned._

He’d come in from the snow to find Jon when Bran had complained loudly that Mom was keeping him inside too long. He’d told himself that Jon was simply helping Cat in the kitchen, and there was no other reason the two of them would remain inside together, but he’d volunteered to come find Jon all the same. And when he’d walked in to hear her telling Jon that she wouldn’t lie to him and that lies caused damage, he’d panicked, hearing again in his mind the things she’d been saying to him over the past few months. 

_Are you truly afraid for him or just afraid of losing him?_

_You can’t keep him in the dark forever, Ned! And the longer you wait, the worse it’ll be._

_You expect me to live my whole life telling a lie because you made a promise?_

_This is going to blow up in your face one day! Why can’t you see that? And when it does, everyone will be as hurt and angry as I am now! Don’t you care about that?_

She’d made so many statements and asked so many questions designed to convince him to tell Jon the truth about his parents since May, he’d forgotten the precise words she’d used most of the time, but her purpose was always the same.

She’d never understood. She wouldn’t listen. She’d refused to understand why Jon must never know who his father was. Catelyn talked repeatedly about how Jon wanted to know more about his mother as if Ned wasn’t perfectly aware of that fact. At least, now, if he tried to search, he’d only come up with dead ends. He couldn’t find a woman who didn’t exist. If he learned he was Rhaegar Targaryen’s son and his curiosity led him to search for the Targaryen family, he could bring very real danger to all of them. Lyanna had made that abundantly clear. Catelyn could preach about the importance of truth with all the eloquence in the world, but the truth paled in importance beside the safety of the people he loved. And yes, the blood type thing was a potential problem, but only for anyone who knew both his and Jon’s. Right now that included only himself and Catelyn, and Ned saw no reason in the world why that number should ever need to increase. It was hardly a topic that came up frequently in conversation. 

But her repeated insistence that Jon needed to know the truth about himself scared Ned to death. He’d been almost afraid to leave them in a room alone together before he’d moved out of the house. Looking back now, he realized that his guilt over her pain at his enormous deception and his anger over her refusal to understand the need for that deception to remain intact had eaten away at him, making him paranoid when it came to the secret of Jon’s parentage. He’d treated her as a threat, all but ordering her to keep her mouth shut when she’d never once repeated anything he’d told her in confidence over nineteen years of marriage, even if she’d believed someone else should be told.

_There was a time when you knew you didn’t have to ask me, Ned._

He still knew it. He never should have behaved as if he’d forgotten it in the first place, and yet here he was again. Standing in the kitchen having driven his wife away with his paranoid questions and still wanting to ask Jon what they’d spoken about. It seemed he couldn’t keep from being his own worst enemy.

Jon sighed at Ned’s prolonged silence. “We talked about my mother,” he said softly.

That made Ned jump.

“Basically, she told me the same thing you’ve been telling me. That this divorce is all about the two of you and has nothing to do with me. That it’s not my fault. She went a little further though. She admitted how much it hurt when you brought me home and that sometimes she resented me for it.”

That surprised Ned. Catelyn didn’t like to acknowledge any of her negative feelings toward Jon even to him. She knew that blaming Jon for his own birth was unfair, and she’d always tried not to do it. But no one was always fair. Not where feelings were concerned. He didn’t know what she was trying to accomplish by confessing her failings to Jon, though.

“She wanted me to know that she understood how you could resent a person even when you know you aren’t being fair,” Jon continued. “She meant all that stupid stuff I pulled, starting in middle school. You know, when I started making such a big deal out of every little thing she did or didn’t do that bothered me. Tried to convince everybody that she hated me. I told her I knew I got angry at her for stuff that wasn’t really her fault, and she told me she knew all about that. And that since she did that to me when I was little, it was her fault that I acted the way I did when I got bigger.”

That surprised Ned even more. He’d honestly felt Catelyn resented having to deal with Jon more during those years than when he’d first brought him home. It appeared she’d gone to great lengths to absolve Jon of all guilt today, and while he supported any effort to make Jon feel less guilty about his role as the family bastard, he wondered what had prompted Catelyn to speak about those things today.

“Jon . . . what started this conversation?”

“She was apologizing about me hearing the two of you last night. And I asked her if she thought it made it any better for us if you two just argue in secret and if she didn’t think we deserved to know what happened to you.”

“Jon, you shouldn’t have . . .”

“Well, whether I should have or shouldn’t have, she answered me. She told me all that stuff and then she told me she knew you loved my mother.”

“She told you what?” Ned asked, stunned.

“Did you love my mother? Catelyn really believes you did. She wasn’t lying. She said she had to accept that you had loved my mother but that she knew you still loved her and so she eventually forgave you. And that you loved each other even more after that than you ever had. So nothing about me caused your divorce because if it was about me, you’d have split up all those years ago instead of being married and happy and having a bunch more kids. That’s what she wanted me to know. She told me all the worst things she ever felt about me and my mother so she could tell me how none of those things were able to break you up.”

“She’s right about that, Jon,” Ned replied, stunned that Catelyn had been willing to open herself up so much in an effort to ease Jon’s mind.

“About what? That you loved my mother? Or that your divorce has nothing to do with me?”

Ned swallowed. “Both,” he said simply. Jon looked at him expectantly. “I never loved . . . Anna . . .” He stumbled over the fake name only a bit. “the way I loved Catelyn. I’ve never loved anyone like that. But . . . your mother was easy to love. She was beautiful, with a wonderful loud laugh that made you happy just to hear it. I do wish you could hear her laugh.” He stopped speaking, fearing to say too much as he described even this small detail about Lyanna to the son who could never know her name.

“But . . . you’ve always told me you knew very little about her. How could you love her?”

Ned took a deep breath. “I know very little about her life,” he said. That was true enough. He’d had no idea where Lyanna was or what she was doing then, and he didn’t now. “But there was something about her that drew me to her. And I’ll never forget her. Nor will I ever regret that she gave me you.”

Jon was quiet a moment. “If Catelyn hadn’t told me that you loved my mother, would you ever have told me any of this?”

“I don’t know,” Ned offered, thinking that Jon might accept that better than a flat denial. “She’s gone now. She’s been gone a long time, and while I would not have you think ill of her, I feared that filling your head with pretty stories of our time together would do nothing but lead you to believe that such a love is perfect, when it is nothing of the kind.” He thought of Lyanna falling in love with Rhaegar Targaryen. “Two people can fall in love quite suddenly and intensely, and for a brief moment, it may feel as though it truly is perfect. The trouble is that such loves are rarely deep and true enough to last beyond the moment and often lead to great heartbreak. I would wish for you, and for all of my children, the deeper love—the kind that lasts far beyond the first exciting moments and continues to grow stronger all the years of your life.”

“Yeah,” Jon said. “Well, I don’t think any of your children believe in that anymore, Dad. If you and Catelyn didn’t make it, who can?”

“Catelyn and I . . . we hurt each other, Jon. It’s my fault, the start of it. And then . . . we just couldn’t seem to stop hurting each other.” 

“Well, maybe you should apologize,” Jon said.

“I wish it were that simple, son.”

“Have you tried it? I mean, I’m not saying you have to apologize for every rotten thing you’ve ever done in your whole life, but you could apologize for being a jerk to her just now. And last night with the Roose Bolton thing. You could start there.”

Ned smiled at him. “It’s rather humbling being given such simple but excellent advice by your teenaged son.”

“So you’ll take it?” Jon asked, smiling back at him.

“If you’ll go outside and throw snowballs at your siblings, I’ll look for Catelyn.”

“Deal,” Jon said, still smiling. As Ned turned to leave the kitchen, Jon called after him. “And Dad? Thanks for telling me that stuff about my mother. Even if Catelyn did have to give you a push.”

Ned didn’t truly want to think about Catelyn pushing him to tell Jon things about his mother, but he only nodded and said, “You’re welcome, son.”

Then he set off in search of his wife. She wouldn’t go to their bedroom. He knew that. He stood and considered where else she would go to be alone in this house, and after only a moment began walking toward the library. He nearly collided with her as she was coming out of the room.

“Ned!” she exclaimed, rather startled. Then she put on her lady of the manor face and said, “I’m going to dig my car out. Hopefully, no more snow will fall, and the plow can get through tomorrow.”

“It’ll take more than you with a single shovel to dig that car out, Cat. I’ll help you, and we’ll recruit the older boys if we need them, too. But first, may I please speak with you a moment?”

She frowned. “Would you prefer that I simply type up a complete transcript of every word I spoke to Jon today? Let’s see, I believe the first thing I said was, ‘Oh, boys!’ Robb was with him in the kitchen at the time. ‘I’m so impressed at your set-up. How ‘bout we do breakfast first and then we’ll start on the baking?’ I can’t recall if Jon or Robb answered me. Maybe both . . . and then, I said . . .”

“Catelyn, I’m sorry.” 

His words stopped her facetious recital, and she stood there in the hallway just outside the library staring at him.

“I was an ass in the kitchen. I had no right to question you at all. And I certainly had no right to interrogate you like a criminal in front of Jon.”

She raised a brow at him. “Is that how you see me now? As a criminal who must be watched lest she corrupt the children?”

“No! Of course, I don’t . . .” He stopped. He had raised his voice again in frustration. He’d not come here to yell at her. “I’m sorry for shouting,” he said much more quietly. “I don’t want to shout at you, Cat. And I could never look at you and see a criminal of any kind.” He gave her a small smile as he said that, but she didn’t return it. “I don’t know what I was thinking in there, to be honest. I only know I was wrong.”

“You were wrong. And I do know what you were thinking. You thought I was telling Jon about Lyanna.” She dropped her voice to nearly a whisper by the end of the sentence, and he could see the hurt on her face.

“No, I didn’t . . . yes,” he admitted painfully. “Yes, I did. And I shouldn’t have. You would never tell Jon or anyone else without coming to me first. You’ve never once betrayed a confidence I’ve shared with you, and I know you never would.”

“Do you really? That’s odd, considering that you never took me into your confidence about this particular item in the first place. So it shouldn’t really surprise me that you don’t trust me with it now, should it?”

“That was never about trusting you! It was about . . . No. I’m not doing this, Catelyn. I didn’t come here to trade barbs or rehash arguments. I came because I was wrong to behave for even one moment like I believed you would simply tell Jon the truth to spite me. And I wanted to apologize.”

She looked at him for a moment and then took a breath as she prepared to speak.

“You needn’t remind me that I’ve more or less insinuated that you might tell him more times than just this morning. I know I have. I was wrong all of those times, and I only said it because I was speaking in anger.”

She bit her lip then, but he recognized that she was hiding a smile. “More or less?” she questioned.

He smiled at her somewhat ruefully. “I suppose it was somewhat more rather than less. As I mentioned, I was angry.”

“We’ve been angry a long time, Ned.”

“I know. Will you talk with me a moment? No interrogations. No arguments. If I say anything you don’t want to hear, you can walk out the door. Please, Cat.”

She sighed and walked back into the library. “Shut the door behind you,” she said. “I’m assuming they’re all outside now, including Jon, but I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

“You don’t believe I can have a quiet, civil conversation with you?” he asked her.

“You said no interrogations,” she reminded him. When he began to apologize, she interrupted. “It’s all right, Ned. I was teasing. I guess that’s something else we can’t really do anymore.”

“I was out of line last night, too,” Ned said without further delay. “That crack about Roose Bolton. That was totally uncalled for, and I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” she said softly. “That did surprise me, I’ll admit. Did Arya tell you that I took him to dinner?”

 _Arya told me a lot of things about Roose Bolton,_ he thought murderously. “She told me he’d fixed the gutter on the side of the house, and you wanted to thank him. I feel bad that I’d never gotten that gutter repaired. I should have done it ages ago.”

“Well, it’s fixed now,” she said breezily. “Along with a hole in the fence. Turns out, he’s quite the handyman, our Mr. Bolton.”

“Cat,” Ned nearly growled. “I have no right to give you any advice, and I know you’re a grown woman who can take care of herself, but please be careful of that man. I don’t trust him.”

“You don’t trust him in what way, Ned?” she asked. “Do you think the repairs won’t hold? Or that he’ll overcharge me? He hasn’t taken a dime, you know. That’s why I felt I had to buy him dinner.”

He looked closely at her face. She was enjoying this. The damn woman knew what he meant, and she was playing with him. “I don’t like the way he looks at you. He’s creepy.” 

She laughed. “Well, he is a bit creepy. We used to make fun of him sometimes, remember? But you never mentioned thinking he was that kind of creepy.”

“I . . . well . . . I knew you had no interest in him and there didn’t seem to be any point in mentioning it, but if he’s going to be at the house making repairs, I just want you to . . . be aware.” He sounded like an idiot. What he wanted to say was _That man put his hands on you, and I would very much like to see him dead for it,_ but he’d promised Arya not to speak of it, and it would upset Catelyn to know that Arya had seen that. 

“Well,” she said, seeming to take some pity on him, “You needn’t worry. I have no more interest in Roose Bolton now than I ever did, and I honestly have no desire to cultivate any sort of friendship with the man. He helped me out when I needed some help. I’m grateful. But I do think I’ll simply call a repairman for any other problems that come up.”

“You could call me,” he said quickly. “I don’t mind.”

“Ned,” she said rather sadly, shaking her head. “As strange as this is for both of us, I think we should get used to the idea that we aren’t each other’s first phone call anymore. Except concerning the children. That will never change. You’re their father. And I will always come to you before anyone where they’re concerned.” She bit her lip again, and this time she wasn’t hiding a smile. “I hope you’ll always do the same.”

“Of course, I will! They’re our children, Cat. They need both of us, although I dare say they need you more. You’re the only one I trust to raise them.”

She hesitated a moment, and then said, “Jon, too, Ned. If he ever wants or needs anything from me. Certainly, he can come to the house any time he likes. And you needn’t worry. I may disagree with your decision about keeping him in the dark about his parents,” She twisted her mouth. “I may even bring it up to you again in the future. But he won’t hear a word about it from me. I gave you my word, and I meant it.”

“I already told you I was an ass for doubting your word. And thank you for that. I think Jon does miss the house. I have a feeling that Arya may go back to staying with you through the week so he’ll be missing all his sibings, too.”

“What makes you say that? She hasn’t said anything to me.”

“Oh, she hasn’t said anything specifically about it to me, either. But I’m not exactly her favorite person at the moment. Once you let her know that Jon isn’t banned from the house, I’m sure that she’ll . . .”

“Jon has never been banned from the house,” Catelyn suddenly exclaimed.

“What?” Ned asked her, surprised by the sudden vehemence in her voice.

“I never banned Jon from the house. You took him! It’s his home, Ned, as much as it is any of the other kids. He’s lived there as long as we have. You took him from his home. You apparently made him feel he couldn’t come back to it even to visit. I didn’t do a damn thing to Jon!” Her voice shook.

“Poor choice of words, Cat. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that you wouldn’t allow him in the door. It’s just . . . I didn’t imagine you’d want him living there full time with me gone.” _And I was afraid of what you might tell him,_ Ned admitted silently to himself although he was too ashamed to admit it to her. 

“You never asked me though, did you? You never asked him, either, I’ll bet. You just took him. You decided you were leaving and that he was going with you. And yes, Ned, I was very angry about that. But Jon is your son, not mine. And you’d certainly made it clear that you weren’t interested in my opinions about him, so I kept my mouth shut. At first, of course, I thought you’d both be coming back in a few days. That you simply needed time to cool off. That maybe we both did. And later, well . . . it seemed pointless to say anything once it was clear you had pretty much arranged your new life before I was aware our old one was truly over.”

She was angry. She hadn’t raised her voice at all, but he knew her well enough to hear the fury in every word. He wanted to shout at her. He wanted to tell her she was wrong. He wanted to kiss her and tell her that all he wanted in the world was his old life back. But he didn’t do any of that. He carefully kept his voice calm and even. “You rarely offered opinions about Jon,” he told her. “Excepting, of course, regarding his parentage. Look, Catelyn, I know you don’t have any ill will toward Jon. He told me a bit of what you said to him in the kitchen, and while I don’t know if he needed to hear quite all of that, I do thank you for making an effort to absolve him of some the guilt he carries around. He’s always been convinced he’s responsible for any problems between us.”

“And I am responsible for him feeling that way,” she said. She didn’t pose it as a question or a challenge as she might have during arguments in years past. She simply stated it as a fact.

“Partly,” he acknowledged. “But you have no more responsibility for it than I do.”

She gave a single nod. “He didn’t do this to us, Ned. I told him the truth about that.”

“You were kind to him. I thank you.”

“I didn’t do it for you. I did it for Jon. Whether you believe that or not.”

Ned sighed. “I know you don’t hate Jon.”

“I love Jon.”

He couldn’t imagine what his face looked like after that pronouncement. She’d never said those words to him before.

She laughed, confirming that his expression was likely rather comical. “Oh, I don’t love him precisely the way I love my children, I admit, but I do love him. I’m not surprised you don’t believe me. Hurt, a little bit, I suppose. In spite of the disintegration of our marriage, I did think you still knew me better than most people do. I raised him, Ned. When he was an infant, I rocked him. I used to give him a bottle while Robb suckled at my breast. I changed his diapers, taught him his colors, put band-aids on his scraped knees. And yes, through all of that, my stupid, stubborn pride made me keep my distance because I knew you loved his mother deeply. Much more than you tried to let on to me. It was all over your face when you watched him sleep at night or held him after he’d been crying. And I didn’t know she was your sister. I only knew that Jon made you long for a woman who wasn’t me, and I let that knowledge put a space between me and a child whose second word was ‘Cat.’ And we didn’t have a cat, Ned. I loved him in spite of myself. I couldn’t help it, caring for him every day, watching him grow. And by the time I allowed myself to acknowledge how much I’d come to love him, that space had widened into a gulf, and I realized he was the one pushing me away by then. And I had only myself to blame. He hasn’t called me Cat since he was about eight years old, you know. I’ve always been Catelyn—slightly more formal, slightly less warm. Even before he decided I was his Stepmonster. We’re much better now, Jon and me. But he still probably wouldn’t believe me if I told him I love him. So I simply try to make it clear that want good things for him, and I bear him no ill will. 

“So don’t try to humor your ex-wife by telling me that you know I don’t hate Jon. Nobody thinks I _hate_ Jon, Ned. Not really. Certainly not Jon, and probably not even Arya when she isn’t angry at me. You do me no favors by assuring me that you know what everyone knows. I’m not a vindictive person, Ned. I’m really not. But some part of me needs you to know that when you walked out of my house, I didn’t only lose my husband. I lost a child that I admit I may never have been a true mother to, but nevertheless a child that I do love.”

They’d both been standing, facing each other rather like hesitant boxers in a ring throughout their conversation. When she’d finished speaking, she sank down onto the little cushioned sofa she’d bought so that she could have the children all curled up beside her while she read to them. That admission seemed to have exhausted her. He couldn’t believe she had kept this particular pain to herself for years, not sharing it even with him when they had shared everything. _Not the truth about Jon. I didn’t share that with her._ He wondered if she’d kept silent about this because she felt she didn’t deserve to love or be loved by Jon. He wondered if she blamed him for that after she learned the truth. He wondered how he’d never realized what she was feeling and blamed himself for that. He stood there looking at her on that sofa, small and curled up with her arms around her knees, looking remarkably like she had the night he’d brought Jon home and told her that he’d had a child with another woman. Assigning blame to either of them suddenly didn’t seem nearly as important to him as reaching out for her, so that’s what he did.

He sat down beside her and pulled her into his arms. She stiffened, and he whispered her name. She relaxed then and allowed him to pull her head against his chest. He held her there and stroked her hair, and she started crying silently. He didn’t know what to say so he simply held onto her until her tears were spent and she lay still against his chest.

“Catelyn? Cat, I . . .”

“Don’t talk, Ned. Don’t say anything.” 

Her voice still shook in the aftermath of her tears, and she clung to him as if she were afraid to let go, but she didn’t want him to speak. So he didn’t speak. He put a hand on her face, tilted it up toward his, and kissed her.

____________________________________________________________________________________

 

Ned’s arms were around her. That wasn’t supposed to happen anymore. She wasn’t supposed to _want_ it to happen. But she held on to him and cried because his arms had been the safest place for her to cry for so long that she couldn’t bear to pull away in spite of the fact that she was crying because of him. She was so angry at him she couldn’t speak, but she never wanted him to let her go. If she thought too hard about that, she simply got angrier and felt even weaker and more pathetic so she tried not to think at all. While she’d fought tears and lost on too many occasions in the past months, she hadn’t cried this hard in a very long time, and the tears fell as if they’d been bottled up in large quantities for far too long. Finally, she just felt empty, and she lay against Ned’s chest, wanting to pretend that nothing existed outside the circle of his arms for just a moment before she had to push him away, remember why these arms were no longer safe, and try to find some other haven to cry away her pain and fury.

Then he spoke. He said her name. That hurt too much, and she almost pushed him away. She should have pushed him away. Instead she told him to stop talking. If he would just be quiet, she could pretend for a moment more that the arms around her belonged to a Ned who didn’t speak her name with such guilt and trepidation because he’d never lied to her and left her and walked away from their life.

Then his hand was on her face, and his lips were on hers, and Catelyn didn’t think any further. Her lips returned the kiss of their own volition, her body rejecting thought in favor of sensations she knew all too well. Vaguely, she became aware that her hands were now in his hair, clutching the back of his head to keep his lips on hers, and that his hands moved over her back, down to her hips and up again, pulling her tightly against him.

 _We’re in the library. On the children’s sofa. And we’re no longer married. This man left me. This is madness._ Some tiny part of her brain seemed to be observing her behavior and offering commentary in a rather detached manner, but every other part of her mind and body ignored it entirely, first deepening the kiss and then moaning when he finally pulled his lips from hers only to place them on her neck. She felt his hand beneath her shirt, brushing the skin of her waist with his fingers and then grasping her breast over her bra. She actually cried out softly then and pressed herself against him, pushing his own shirt up to feel the skin of his back beneath her hands and becoming frustrated by the leather belt that kept those hands from reaching down past the waistband of his jeans to grasp the taut muscles of his buttocks. He gasped and pushed her down onto her back on the little sofa with her legs still hanging off the edge. He let go of her then, but only to bring his hands to his own belt buckle and frantically work at undoing it. She wanted to pull his shirt off, but opted instead to first reach around to her back and unhook her bra. She wanted his hands on her nipples, not on the stupid lycra. 

He raised himself up enough to push down his jeans, and she could see the erection straining against his boxers. She reached her hand down to pull him free, and he actually cried out as her fingers closed around his cock. He buried his face in her neck, thrusting within her hand, and she felt the scratch of his beard on her skin. Then his mouth was on her nipple, and she heard herself give a sharp cry as his hand moved down inside the elastic waistband of her old jogging pants and his fingers began exploring and teasing with an expertise born of long years of practice.

He roughly tugged her pants and underwear down over hips and pushed them below her knees, and she held his cock against her skin at the junction of her thighs, arching herself toward him. Suddenly, in the midst of all their furious panting and tugging, she felt him go still. Then he raised his head up and looked at her. His eyes were smoke, his breath coming in short gasps, but she could see him trying to stop himself, searching her face as if seeking some sort of answer. Whether he sought her permission to continue or to stop and walk away again, she couldn’t tell and didn’t care. _You left me,_ she thought furiously. _You lied to me and left me and ended our marriage without even a goodbye._ She didn’t owe him answers or permission or absolution, but she’d be damned if he was going to walk away and leave her unsatisfied. She put her free hand on his ass, holding him there above her as she guided him inside her with the hand which still held his cock. His hips jerked forward, pushing his cock deeper inside her, and her breath caught at the sensation. She moved both her hands to his back then, dragging her nails up and down it as his thrusts sped up, not knowing whether she wanted to hurt him or please him, but not caring if she left scratches or even drew blood.

The little sofa was really too small for both of them to lie upon so their feet were still on the ground, and the pants now bunched around her calves prevented her from moving her legs as she wished. “Floor,” she panted into his ear, and they half rolled, half fell, off the couch to the hard, but much roomier expanse of the hardwood floor. He’d barely broken his rhythm, and Catelyn now felt each of his deep strokes drive her bare ass against the cold wood of the floor. She’d probably have bruises. She didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything other than the way her body felt right now. With more room to maneuver, she managed to free her left leg entirely from the obstruction of her pant leg and panties and wrapped her thighs around him, holding him inside her and allowing that sensation of fullness to push her onward toward the edge as their bodies moved perfectly with each other, skin sliding against skin, arms and legs and lips and tongues and fingers knowing precisely what to do as they pushed each other over the brink together. 

For one glorious instant as her body trembled with the force of her orgasm, she felt nothing but a euphoric lightness, that sensation of flying she’d so often experienced from the inexplicable, indescribable connection that had seemed to join the two of them from the very first time they kissed. Then she came crashing back to earth. Or more accurately back onto the library floor as the utter insanity of what they had just done began to penetrate her sex-addled brain. She was lying on the floor with her hair pulled loose from its ponytail and sticking to her face and neck in sweaty strands. Her shirt and bra were bunched up almost to her neck and her underwear was hanging off her right ankle. She was wearing socks, but not her little slip-on shoes despite having no recollection of taking them off.

Ned lay beside her, having just rolled off her, but his arm was still beneath her, and she could feel his breath on her neck. They were both breathing heavily. Other than that the room was silent, and Catelyn realized with a sense of mortification that neither of them had been anything close to silent a moment before, and she prayed devoutly that her children were still outside. 

“I’ve missed you, Cat. I’ve missed you so much.” Ned’s deep voice, still rather breathless, penetrated her fearful musings about the children’s location. She felt his hand moving through her hair, getting caught in what was likely a mass of tangles. 

She sat up and looked down at him. He lay there shirtless, but with his jeans and boxers barely down to his knees. She saw a small purplish bruise beginning to bloom above his collar bone, and his softening cock lay against his belly, slick and glistening with the evidence of what they’d just done. She felt suddenly ill.

“Don’t say that.”

“Cat, I . . .” He sat up and reached out as if to touch her, but she scrambled away from him and stood up, and he stopped speaking without finishing whatever he’d been about to say.

“This doesn’t change anything, Ned. You know that.”

He looked stricken. “I know you don’t believe that, Cat. I know you felt it, too.”

She stared at him, shaking her head. “Felt what, Ned? Horny as hell because I haven’t been touched by a man since August? ” Of course, that outburst caused her mind to immediately imagine him doing the things he’d just done to her to Ashara Dayne, and she wanted to scream. “We’re good at this, Ned. We always were. This . . .” she made wild waving gesture encompassing the two of them, their state of partial undress, and the clothing scattered around them, “was never the problem.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “You made love to me three days before you left me. Do you remember that? I do. And it was good. It was always good with us, Ned, from that first time in the boathouse at Riverrun when neither of us knew what the hell we were doing.”

She turned her back on him and fastened her bra before bending to pull up her underwear and pants, cursing her stupidity and weakness as she felt the remnants of their activities soaking into her panties. She needed a shower and some clean clothes. 

“It’s never been just sex between us. I know that, and you know it, too.” His spoke softly, but she heard an edge of anger in it which infuriated her further.

She whirled around to face him and saw that he’d pulled up his jeans and buckled his belt again. He stood there still shirtless, and she wished the sight of him looking at her like that didn’t make her heart race and break all at once. “I used to know it,” she whispered. “Now, I don’t know anything at all. But I do know that too much is broken between us, Ned. And all the sex in the world won’t fix it.”

“I know that,” he sounded almost desperate. “I’m not a fool, Cat.” He grimaced. “That’s not true. I am a damn fool for letting this mess go on as long as it has. For hurting you. For . . . for not making you understand how much you mean to me. But I’m not so foolish that I think a roll in the hay . . . or on the floor . . . will fix everything. But . . . this wasn’t meaningless. The love is still there. I felt it so strongly, and I know you did, too. This never would have happened otherwise.”

She looked at him incredulously, wondering if he had heard anything she’d said. Wondering if he could hear himself. Wondering if her marriage had ever been what she thought it had. “You liar,” she whispered. “You cruel, insensitive bastard.”

“What the hell do you mean by that? I just told you that . . .”

“That you love me,” she said dramatically. “And I love you. And the proof of our enduring love is the fact that you enjoyed banging me in the library.”

“Catelyn!”

“No! Listen to me, Eddard Stark. Actually listen to me, please. I just told you that we also banged each other’s brains out three days before you left our house. You left me!” She’d kept her voice under control until then, but she’d shouted those last three words. “You left me! Three days after you whispered my name and held on to me and made love to me like you would never let me go, you left me and went straight to another woman’s home!” She could feel the tears behind her eyes again, and she hated that. She hated him for making her feel this way. “So don’t tell me how our getting each other off here today is any big deal to you. Three days from now, this will be forgotten, and I’m certain you can find someone else to meet your needs again.”

She waited for him to shout, to scream denials at her. She could see the anger in his face. But he remained silent, and she turned away to find her shoes.

“Catelyn,” he said very softly after a few moments. She was sitting on the sofa pulling on her shoes, and she looked up. He hadn’t moved from where he stood. “I never wanted to leave you. And I haven’t been with any other woman since that afternoon in your father’s boathouse. I made you believe I had . . . and for all the years I made you believe it, I am sorry. But I am telling you the truth about Ashara. She may be the first girl I ever slept with, but you are the last. And the only one that matters to me. I was a kid when I met Ashara, and we fell for each other the way only kids can. We were little more than kids when I gave her that ring. Looking back on it, I think the whole engagement was just our way of playing at being grown-up. I gave her the ring, and we finally ‘went all the way’ to celebrate. We actually called it that, if you can believe it. Going all the way. Two stupid kids who thought they knew what love was. It was pretty much over within a month after that. We’d been growing up all along, you see, and growing in different directions. I guess we thought that sex and marriage would make us happy. That’s what we were taught in all the movies, after all. Fortunately, we realized that the sex wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, and we went our separate ways before we actually got married. Smartest thing we ever did, probably.”

Catelyn didn’t want to hear about Ashara Dayne, but she knew Ned well enough to see the effort it cost him not to simply yell back at her so she had listened to him attempt to articulate whatever point he was trying to make, but at this point, she had to interrupt. “Probably,” she agreed bitterly. “Seeing as how marriage hasn’t worked out terribly well in our case.”

“Don’t say that, Catelyn. Ever.” He still didn’t raise his voice, but the words were spoken with an air of certainty and even command. “If we walk out of this room and never speak to each other again, I will regret that until the day I die, but I will never regret having married you. Had I not met and married you, I wouldn’t even know what love between a man and a woman is. We were young when we met, but we weren’t children, and there was nothing childish about the feelings between us. I recall that afternoon in your father’s boathouse as well as you do. And everything that happened that day happened because of what we feel and who we are, not because we were simply ‘horny’ as you so eloquently put it while ago. I’ll not deny that simply looking at you makes me want you, or that making love to you doesn’t feel amazing because it does. Every time. But, Cat, it’s like that between us because of all the rest of what we are to each other. I know that.

And I remember that last time at the house in King’s Landing as well as you do, too. We were barely speaking to each other, and I couldn’t stand it. Being so cut off from you. So disconnected. Nothing I said could reach you, and I was desperate to reach you, my love. I needed you so much. So I reached for you the only way I still could. I didn’t know how to fix anything, but I didn’t think I could keep breathing without touching you. I felt that same way again today. And I have to believe we can fix things between us somehow. Because I love you.”

She didn’t even try to stop the tears now because she heard the truth in his words. She believed him. He’d always been able to make her believe he loved her, even when he’d been trying to convince her that he had slept with another woman rather than that he hadn’t. She might have laughed at that thought if she weren’t so heartbroken. “I know you love me, Ned,” she said softly. “And I suppose I even believe you when you say you aren’t sleeping with Ashara Dayne, in spite of all evidence to the contrary.”

“Cat, I swear . . .”

She held up her hand. “I said I believe you, and I do. But, Ned, you did leave me.”

“I . . .”

She held up her hand again. “I listened to you. Please listen to me. I won’t shout at you, I promise. You love me, and yet you left me all the same. You love me, and yet you moved in with an ex-lover and kept your whereabouts a secret.”

“You could have called me, Cat. I would have told you were I was. I thought Arya would . . .”

“You’re supposed to be listening, remember? As to calling you, I wanted to call you so many times, but then I’d remember how you’d shouted at me and all but accused me of wanting something terrible to happen to Jon, and I just couldn’t. I needed to know that the man I loved—the man who loved me—didn’t truly believe such awful things of me, and I couldn’t know that by calling you and begging you to come home. I needed you to realize on your own that home for you and Jon was with me, and that our home was the safest place for both of you. So I waited. And I hoped. And I found out you’d been with Ashara—don’t protest again, I believe you—but you had stayed with her after leaving me, and at the time it was very hard for me to think anything good about that. But I still hoped. And then . . .” She had to stop speaking for a moment as the memory of that awful day hit her as painfully as when it took place. “Those papers came,” she whispered hoarsely. “Eddard Stark, referred to as the petitioner, hereby notifies Catelyn Stark nee Tully, referred to as the respondent, of his intent to pursue legal dissolution of the marriage between petitioner and respondent for the cause of irreconcilable differences . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she had to take a breath before continuing. “There was more, of course. Cold legal gobbledygook about petitioner and respondent and minor children. But the gist of it was that I had waited and hoped for something that was never going to happen.” She hadn’t been able to look at him as she’d quoted that awful petition, but she looked at him now and was surprised to see actual tears in the grey eyes she knew so well. “You love me, Ned. And yet you had decided that wasn’t good enough. You couldn’t trust me enough to remain my husband any longer. You couldn’t trust me around your son. You couldn’t believe in me enough to work our way through this painful place we’d found ourselves in. And I think that in some ways, that hurt even more than if you had simply stopped loving me. And that’s the day I stopped hoping. And I started trying to find a way to live in a world where you aren’t my husband and I’m not your wife.”

“I never meant to hurt you. I thought you wanted . . . God I am such a fool, Cat. But I swear I love you, and if you still love me, we can fix this. We can . . . I’ll go to the courthouse December 26th and do whatever it takes to stop this whole stupid legal nightmare. Just say the word, Catelyn.”

“It isn’t that simple, Ned. I’m no longer your wife, and honestly, I’m not certain I want to be. I don’t know that I can live with someone who doesn’t trust me, and you’ve made it clear that you don’t. What’s more, I don’t know if I can trust you anymore. I can’t guard my words every moment of the day and tell you only what I think you want to hear. I’ve never been that person. When I disagree with you, Ned, I’ve always told you. And whether I’m right or wrong or somewhere in between, I need to know I can speak my mind without fearing that the man I love will simply give up on me, walk out, and serve me divorce papers!”

He reached out and grabbed her by the arms putting his face very close to hers. “Catelyn, I will never do that again. I swear to you. You are my wife. You are all I want. If you tell me you truly don’t love me anymore, I’ll go and dig that damn car out of the snow and let you walk away without another word. But if you do love me, give me a chance to fix this. Let me stop the damn divorce proceedings and come home. And we’ll figure this out. I promise. If you love me, I will do whatever it takes.”

His grip on her arms was almost painful, but she didn’t try to move away from him. Instead, she spoke as honestly as she knew how. “I will love you until I die, Eddard Stark. I don’t think anything can change that. But I’m not your wife. Not anymore. The divorce is already final. I got my letter yesterday morning. I guess yours came to your place after you and Jon left. It’s over, Ned. Sometimes things truly are too broken to repair. The best thing that you and I can do now is to pick up the pieces and figure out how to move forward from this place. We need to heal those children we’ve managed to hurt so much. I know I can’t do that if I stay angry at you, so I promise I’ll let go of the anger. I just . . . I can’t quite do it yet. It still hurts too much. So, maybe we need to go back to not being around each other for prolonged periods of time.”

He stood there as if stunned. Finally, he said, “I don’t think our avoiding each other is going to help anyone, Cat.”

“Well, at the very least we shouldn’t be alone together for long periods of time.” She tried to smile at him. “Either fighting or fucking any time we’re left unchaperoned makes it pretty obvious that we have not figured out how to be sane ex-spouses yet.”

He didn’t laugh at her feeble attempt at humor. His expression didn’t change at all. He did finally let go of her arms. “I’ll get Robb and Jon. We’ll dig your car out.”

She nodded. Then she noticed his shirt was lying on the floor by her feet, and she bent to retrieve it. “Here,” she said, handing it to him. “I’m going to go clean myself up a bit before the kids show up.” 

He took the shirt without responding, so she simply walked around him to the door. As she opened it, she heard him say to her once more, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” She stepped out into the hall began the walk to the bedroom she used to share with him. She’d have to go in there at least long enough to find some clean underwear although it was possibly the last place on earth she wanted to be right now. 

Their last words to each other echoed in her mind, and she wondered how many thousands of times they’d said those words to each other over the years as one of them left a room or hung up a phone or got in a car. Never before had they felt so much like goodbye.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 

_I’m not your wife. Not anymore. The divorce is already final._

Ned had no idea how long he stood there after Catelyn left with those words echoing in his mind. How could Catelyn not be his wife? How the fuck had they gotten here? 

He remembered how he’d prepared himself for Catelyn to walk out, to ask for a divorce, when he brought Jon home as an infant. He’d been terrified, but also prepared to do whatever it took to keep that from happening. And when, even in the midst of her anger, she had told him she loved him, he’d taken reassurance from it. Somehow, now, her stating flatly that she’d love him until she died gave him no reassurance at all. They actually were divorced now, and that had been entirely his doing. He could see that with a clarity that made him despair at how blind he’d been before. He’d utterly failed his wife, and he hadn’t been able to see that until his failure was complete.

His back itched, and he absently reached back to scratch it. It felt rough and when he looked at his fingertip, there was dried blood on it. Miserably, he recalled Catelyn’s nails on his back less than an hour ago, and could not even fathom that he would never feel her arms around him again. He’d allow her to rake his flesh with nails, teeth, or knives if he could only make this right somehow.

He heard a sudden shout followed by laughter. The kids were back inside. Hurriedly, he pulled the shirt over his head, thinking what his back must look like. Catelyn had left the door to the library open. He truly had no sense of time at the moment, but hoped she had made it upstairs to make whatever repairs to her appearance were necessary by now. She had bruises on her backside and shoulder blade which he’d seen which she stood up. Those had undoubtedly come from the floor. Her clothes would cover those. There had been another tiny bruise on her neck which she may be able to hide with the right kind of collar or a scarf, and of course, her skin was reddened from his beard. That would fade quickly, though. He decided to give her whatever time she needed, and walked from the library, trying to muster a smile as he walked in the direction of the great room.

They were all there. Coats, hats, gloves, and boots had been left in the mudroom just inside the door from the garage, but they were now peeling off extra layers and laughing and talking all at once. The sight warmed his heart and made him inexpressibly sad all at the same time.

“So who won the war?” he asked.

“We did!” Bran shouted, jumping up to run over to him. His cheeks were red from the cold and the grin on his face was a mile wide. “It was epic, though! So many snowballs. And I nailed Robb with a million from the top of the . . .” He stopped suddenly and looked guilty.

“Bran?” Ned asked expectantly. “From the top of what?”

“Where’s Mom?” Bran asked, looking around as if he suspected Catelyn was hiding behind the draperies or something.

“Upstairs, I think. From the top of what?”

Bran sighed. “From the top of the garage but the snow’s so deep it’s not really that high up at all like from the top of the snow to the garage roof I mean,” he rattled off without a breath and barely any break between words.

Once he managed to translate that pronouncement, he frowned at his son. “And are you allowed to climb onto any roof, Bran?”

“Well, no, but . . .”

“And is there an exception in the prohibition against climbing onto roofs when the snow reaches a certain depth?”

“No! But . . . are you going to tell Mom?”

He looked up and saw five other pairs of eyes looking at him almost as pleadingly as Bran’s.

“Seriously, Dad! I know he shouldn’t have done it, and I should be mad because if he hadn’t have done it, we’d have won, but, honest! The snow is so deep, I don’t think anybody could get hurt falling off the highest part of the roof on the _house,_ much less the garage,” Arya exclaimed, coming to stand by her younger brother in solidarity.

“If you punish Bran, then you ought to punish me, too.” That pronouncement came surprisingly enough from Sansa. “He asked me if he should do it, and it really did seem safe with all the snow.” She looked down. “And I’m tired of being on the losing team and always getting blamed for it. So I told him to go for it!”

Ned looked at the six faces. Lying to Catelyn was not exactly something he wanted to become involved in right now, but he honestly didn’t think the boy had done anything dangerous. He’d thrown snowballs from the same spot as a kid. “All right. No one is being punished. If your mother specifically asks me if you have been climbing onto roofs, I’ll tell her you have, Bran. But if she doesn’t ask, I won’t say anything.”

The kids all gave a cheer, and Bran and Arya hugged him. Then the kids began to scatter, heading toward the kitchen or game room, but Bran lingered behind.

“I almost hope I get in trouble,” he said softly. 

“What?” Ned asked him. “Why on earth would you want that?”

“Because it would mean you and Mom are talking. I mean normal talking—about just regular stuff—like you used to. That would be worth getting grounded for.”

Ned actually had to close his eyes a moment. “Bran . . . you know your mother and I both love you very much, don’t you?”

He nodded and made a face. “Tommen Baratheon says I’ll hear that a lot now. And it doesn’t make things suck any less.” He shrugged. “He did tell me a long time ago that you don’t get in trouble as much, though, when your parents are divorced. Because neither of them wants to be the mean parent.”

“So you see some benefit to this arrangement then?”

Bran looked at him and frowned. “Not even a little bit. I only ever told Tommen that was pretty cool because I was trying to make him feel better. I never thought there was anything good about your parents getting divorced. Only back then, I didn’t think I had to worry about it.”

“I’m sorry, Bran,” Ned said, not knowing what else to say.

“I know you are. Everybody’s sorry, and everybody’s sad. That’s what’s so dumb. Why does anybody even do something that just makes everybody sorry and sad?”

Ned sighed. “Because, sometimes, I’m afraid, adults are not as wise as children of eleven.”

Bran did smile at him then, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Go on, now. I have to go outside and have a look at your mother’s car to see if it can be excavated from its snowy tomb.”

“No! I mean, Dad! Tomorrow is Christmas Eve! If she’s been here this long, she should just stay! Please!!! None of us wants her to leave!”

Ned sighed. “I know. None of us wants her to leave. But it’s her choice, Bran, and if she wants to leave and it’s possible, then I’ll not have her stuck here if I can help her. Do you understand?”

“She shouldn’t want to leave us on Christmas Eve! We’re her children.” Bran suddenly sounded as young as Rickon.

“You are. And she loves you more than all the world, and any desire she may have to be away from this place has nothing to do with you. And if she does leave, I’ll not have you or your brothers or sisters making her feel guilty about it. Do you understand me?”

Bran nodded. “Just . . . please be nice to her, Dad. Then maybe she’ll want to stay.”

Ned found it rather disheartening that his son felt it necessary to instruct him to be nice to his wife. _She isn’t my wife anymore._ That thought still failed to register as even a possibility in his mind. He’d been ‘getting a divorce’ for over two months now, and yet actually being divorced seemed impossible to him.

“I’ll be on my best behavior. I promise. I’ll be back inside in a bit.”

“Okay.” Bran looked at him rather oddly a moment, and then asked, “Dad? Why’s your shirt on backwards?”

“What?” Ned asked, rather panicked. Looking down at the front of his shirt, he realized that was indeed looking at what should be the back. “Um, I just . . . I was wet when I came inside from the snow so I took off my shirt,” he said.

“But that’s the same shirt you were wearing when we went outside,” Bran said.

“I know it is. I . . . just took it off and hung it over a chair to dry. I guess I wasn’t paying attention when I put it back on.”

“Sometimes, you’re really clueless, Dad,” Bran laughed before running toward the kitchen.

_You don’t know how right you are, Bran. You don’t know how right you are._

Ned walked to the mudroom to pull on his snow gear. At the last moment, he even grabbed a hat thinking it would please Catelyn. Three seconds later, he ripped it off his head and threw it to the floor thinking that nothing he could do would please Catelyn at this point. _Sometimes things truly are too broken to repair,_ she had said. He stood there staring at the grey knit cap on the mudroom floor for a moment before picking it up and pulling it down over his ears once more. “Not us,” he said aloud. “We are not too broken.” 

Then he grabbed a shovel and trudged outside into the snow. It had looked like an untouched winter wonderland when he’d first stepped out earlier as the snow lay over two feet deep everywhere with drifts of at least five feet in some places. Now, it looked like a war zone, which he supposed it had been actually. Stark family snowball fights could accurately be described as war. In any event, there was very little pristine, untouched snow anywhere around the house. They’d even done a bit of his work for him, apparently having used Catelyn’s SUV as cover at some point. A lot of the snow around it was packed down, and a lot of the snow that had lain atop it was gone—likely used to make ammunition. The vehicle sat a good distance from the driveway, not that the driveway had even been visible when Catelyn had driven in. She’d simply aimed for the house and gotten as close as she could before giving it up. He’d have done the same. He could see bits of the pavement on the driveway now, though, where the kids had kicked away the snow. He decided his best course of action would be to get the rest of the snow off the car and clear away enough snow that lay immediately around it so the tires could move, and then get the tractor with the snowplow to clear a path from the car to the driveway and clear the driveway down to the gate. 

As he worked with the shovel, his mind went repeatedly to the conversation he’d had with Catelyn in the library. It had been a conversation, he realized. Painful. Heated, at times. Certainly not the conversation he’d hoped to have. But it hadn’t been an argument. They’d each spoken things they hadn’t before rather than hurling the same accusations to no purpose. They’d listened to each other as well. Or at least they’d tried. He couldn’t help feeling they still weren’t hearing everything the other was trying to say. And she’d left as if there was nothing left to say. She’d said, _I love you,_ too and walked away as if they had nothing else to say to each other. But how could that be possibly be true if they loved each other?

She’d been desperate for reassurance that he still loved her when he’d first brought Jon home. _Do you love me at all?_ But she had never walked away. She had never stopped trying to hold on to him . . . to hold on to _them._ Now, she assured him that she knew he loved her. And then proclaimed them too broken to repair. He didn’t understand that at all.

He’d been shoveling about thirty minutes when he paused to look at his progress, contemplating whether or not he could do everything else with the plow when he saw someone come walking briskly toward him from the house, carrying a shovel. Robb. He wore that garishly bright green hat his latest girlfriend had gotten him.

“Come to give me a hand, son?” he called out as Robb approached.

“I didn’t come for you at all,” Robb said in a low, angry voice. “I’m here for Mom. And to tell you that if you hurt her again, I don’t care if you’re my father. I will make you sorry.”

Robb had come close enough now that Ned could see his face clearly, and it was a face filled with barely suppressed rage. Robb took after Catelyn in appearance, and his handsome face was as expressive as his mother’s, but the expression on it now reminded Ned more of his long dead brother when someone had committed an act Brandon found particularly abhorrent. His brother’s temper had been a fearsome thing, and he now saw the echo of that temper seething at him in his son’s blue eyes. “Robb,” he said slowly. “I’m not certain . . .”

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Robb asked angrily, and just as he had with Bran earlier, Ned thought his firstborn now sounded as young as Rickon in spite of the profanity. He stared at his son without speaking, and Robb repeated the question, this time stepping forward to shove Ned in the chest.

Ned grabbed Robb’s wrist and held it tightly. “Don’t you put your hands on me, son,” he said in a low voice, now trying to suppress his own anger.

“Don’t you put your filthy hands on my mother!” Robb responded much more loudly.

That shocked Ned. “I would never lift a hand to Catelyn, Robb! How can you even think such a thing? My God, what’s gotten into you?”

“What’s gotten into me? Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

Ned didn’t think he’d ever seen his son this angry in almost eighteen years of life. “I don’t, Robb. I truly don’t.”

Robb stared at him a moment, and the hot fury slowly ebbed from his face to be replaced with something Ned had never thought to see there, not for him. Contempt.

“You miserable bastard,” Robb muttered. “You don’t even care enough to know why I’m angry. I guess everything you ever told me about women and love and honor was a lie.”

“What are you talking about, son?”

“I’m talking about you leaving Mom for that Dayne tramp. Breaking her heart and stomping all over it. And then getting her up here and just . . . taking advantage of her like it’s nothing! She loves you, Dad! And you can’t do this shit to her! You can’t!” Robb actually had tears in his eyes, and Ned almost wanted to cry himself. _Some things are too broken to repair._

“You don’t know what happened, Robb,” he began. He now realized, of course, what Robb was talking about, but there was no way the boy could truly know what had happened between Catelyn and him in the library.

“Don’t I? Mom came downstairs a bit ago. Wearing all different clothes. She told us she felt like she had flour all over her after doing all that baking and took another shower. But Sansa told me earlier that Mom couldn’t even bring herself to go into your bedroom this morning to get her clothes. Sansa had to do it for her. Obviously, she’s been in there now, though, because she doesn’t have any clothes anyplace else. What’d you do, Dad? How’d you talk her into bed?”

“Robb Stark,” Ned growled through gritted teeth, “Don’t you ever let me hear you speak of your mother like that again, young man.”

“She’s wearing a fucking turtleneck, Dad! She hates turtlenecks! And it didn’t work anyway because if she turns her head just right, you can still see the damn hickey. Are you honestly going to tell me you didn’t put it there?”

Ned sighed. “Robb, please calm down. Your mother and I . . . we have a long history together, and . . . we just. You know, it doesn’t matter what we did or didn’t do. Neither Catelyn nor I have to answer questions about our personal lives, even to you or your siblings. But I will assure you that I have never, in the more than two decades I’ve known her, kissed your mother without her consent. And I resent your saying that I would ever toy with her affections, Robb.”

“Kissed her? Kissing her would probably mess with her head enough, you know. But I’m pretty sure you did more than kiss her, Dad—considering Bran noticed your shirt was on backwards.”

“If you think I am going to stand here and try to defend myself against baseless accusations made by a hurt, angry child, you are sadly mistaken, Robb.” As Robb did not immediately shout back this time, Ned took a deep breath and continued. “As to hurting your mother, I would rather cut off my arm than hurt her, and yet I know I’ve done just that. I’ve hurt her more than I have a right to ask forgiveness for, but I swear to you that I would rather die than hurt her like that again.”

Robb stood there looking at him. “I’m not a child,” he said after a moment. “I’m hurt and angry, all right. We all are. But I’m not a child. I’ll be eighteen in less than a month, Dad, and you told me yourself that I wasn’t a child when you found those condoms in my wallet last January on my birthday. When I was dating Alys Karstark, rememember?”

“I remember,” Ned said quietly. Robb himself had asked Ned to get money out of his wallet to pay the pizza delivery guy who showed up at one a.m., and the teenagers in the basement who’d ordered the food hadn’t even heard the doorbell so Ned had to let the poor man in.

“Well, I remember everything you told me that next morning, Dad. You said that if I were old enough to think about having sex and smart enough to at least protect myself and my girlfriend from the physical consequences, then I’d better be old and smart enough to protect myself from the emotional consequences, too. You told me that even if it made you hopelessly old fashioned that you would never consider sex just a game or some kind of recreation. And that you hoped that if all I wanted was to scratch an itch that I could use my imagination and my hand and know that nobody would get hurt.” Robb’s cheeks reddened as he spoke just as they had when Ned had said those words to him. His voice sounded thick, and he could barely keep speaking, but he went on. “You told me to remember that having sex didn’t make me a man, but that never having sex without making sure I knew what it might mean to the other person as well as to myself was something that every man should do.” Robb actually had to wipe tears from his eyes then. “I believed you. I believed everything you said. I never used those condoms, Dad. I finally threw them away because I got tired of Theon making fun of me for letting them rot. I wanted to be like you.”

“I’ve never pretended I haven’t made mistakes, Robb,” Ned said softly. “I want you and your brothers to be better men than I am.”

Robb nodded. “I always knew that. And I admired you even more for it. You never once pretended that what you did . . . with Jon’s mother . . . was right. But you never loved Jon any less for it, and you always loved Mom so much that I thought you did what you always told us to do. Learn from your mistakes and become a better person. Well you became the best person I knew and gave us the best life anybody could ever have. And now you go and fuck it up all over again! So was it all a lie, Dad? All those things you said to me?”

“No, Robb. I believed every word I told you. I still do. And you’re right. I wronged your mother terribly about Jon, and I’ve wronged her again in this . . . divorce. But it isn’t the same. There is no other woman in my life. I know you don’t believe me, and that’s my fault, too, as I’ve behaved foolishly with no regard as to how things might look to the people I love best. As for what happened between your mother and myself today, that is between us. I’ll say only that as much as we’ve hurt each other, we have loved each other even more for a long time, and that . . . that doesn’t simply disappear. We’re trying to figure out where we go now, and we haven’t been doing a very good job of it. I know what I want. I don’t know if it’s possible. But I do know that if your mother wants something different, she should have it. That’s why I’m digging out this car. Your mother should leave Winterfell when it’s her choice and no one else’s. She’s been living with my choices for far too long. It’s time for me to live with hers.”

Robb closed his eyes. “I’m so tired of her being sad all the time, Dad. And trying to pretend that she isn’t. I’m tired of feeling like I need to . . . I don’t know . . . make everything better for everybody at home. Because I can’t do it. I’m not you, Dad. They all tell me that when I make them mad, you know. Arya tells me that constantly. And . . . it’s almost funny because I always thought I wanted to be just like you. And now . . . .”

“You are like me in some ways, Robb,” Ned said. “You are also like your mother. I like to think you’ve got the best from both of us. But you are very much your own man, son, and I am proud to say that you are a better man than I am.”

“I’m still pissed off at you,” Robb said after a moment. “I want to believe you, Dad. I do. But . . . it’s kind of hard to trust you right now.”

Robb had looked him squarely in the eyes as he said that, and it hurt more than Ned thought he could bear. Robb had been born before he came back from the war. Catelyn sent pictures to him almost daily although it often took them extra time to reach him so he’d receive them in bunches. He’d kept those pictures with him all the time, and he’d thought he knew exactly what his son looked like. But then he’d gone home and seen him for the first time in Catelyn’s arms, and his heart had stopped at the sight. When she’d place him in his own arms, he’d experienced a tidal wave of love combined with a more ferocious desire to protect than he’d ever known. This was his son. His child. Born of his and Catelyn’s love. And he’d promised himself in that very moment that he would raise this child to understand love and courage and kindness and honor, and that he’d never let the cruelty of this world crush him as it had too many people Ned loved. Robb had grown up to be the very man Ned had hoped he would. And that man now looked him in the eyes and told him he had lost his trust. 

He could barely muster the strength to reply, “I understand.” He couldn’t say anything more.

“I told everybody I was coming out to help with the car,” Robb said. “I can still do that. For Mom.”

Ned nodded, trying to remember how to breathe with the weight of Robb’s words on his chest. “If you could keep clearing around the car with the shovel, I’ll go start on the driveway with the plow,” he finally managed to suggest.

“Okay,” Robb said, and Ned turned away from his son to walk toward the building where the tractor was stored. It hurt just being near Robb. To know that his son had considered him someone Catelyn needed protection from. To know that he had lost his son’s trust. To know that he deserved it. _Some things are too broken to repair._

He wished that damn blood drive had never taken place. He wished Catelyn didn’t habitually open all mail other than personal cards and letters. He wished she hadn’t paid such close attention in high school science. That she’d understood why he had to do what he did. That she hadn’t been so damn insistent on his telling Jon the truth. That he’d never left the house with Jon. That he’d never filed the damn divorce papers. Everything in the world that mattered had begun to unravel after she discovered the secret about Jon. If he could only change that moment, he would give up everything he had.

Except that it didn’t begin then. He had to admit that if he were honest with himself. 

The tractor started up surprisingly easily given the cold and the length of time since it had last been used. Ned half cursed himself for having the forethought to call the caretaker last week and ask him to make sure it had fuel in it and to put the snowplow blade on. Without the plow, there was no way Catelyn was leaving here for days. Then he cursed himself again for his selfish thought. He’d just told Robb that Catelyn should be the one to make choices now. He’d meant it, too. But that didn’t make it any easier.

He’d plowed the long driveway of Winterfell more times than he could remember since he’d been about fourteen years old. It snowed a lot here every winter, and they’d spent a lot more time here when he was a kid. He’d never actually minded this particular chore. The cold didn’t bother him as much as seemed to bother most people, and the task itself was fairly easy once you mastered the basic controls—repetitive and fairly mindless. He could think about things while he raised and lowered the blade, pushing the snow off the pavement. He’d done a lot of thinking on this tractor over a lot of winters.

Today, he found himself remembering. Remembering when all the pain his family was going through had truly begun.

_She held a child, a child that couldn’t be anything but hers. Not with those eyes._

_“Lyanna,” he breathed._

_“My son,” she said bluntly. “And, unfortunately, Rhaegar Targaryen’s son.”_

_“That’s why you stayed with him? After you found out he was responsible for Brandon’s death? To have his child?”_

_“No. I had no intention of Rhaegar ever finding out I was pregnant. It didn’t matter that I loved him or that he loved me. I knew he’d never leave his family or their business. I knew that once he knew about the baby, he’d never let me leave. Rhaegar loved with all his heart, but he didn’t love selflessly. He was jealously possessive of anything he considered his. Including people. That’s what kept his poor wife trapped. He cared little enough for Elia that he might have let her leave if his family would have allowed it. But he never would have given up their children. And she would never leave them. I couldn’t let my child become another of Rhaegar’s possessions—another game piece for the Targaryens to use as they saw fit. I couldn’t let my child grow up believing it’s just business to murder people like Brandon.”_

_“Then why didn’t you leave as soon as you knew you were pregnant?” Ned asked her._

_She laughed, and it nearly broke Ned’s heart. Lyanna’s laugh had always been of his favorite sounds in the word. Too loud, more raucous than musical, but full of joy and life, and impossible to hear without smiling. This laugh, however, was joyless and bitter. “However little he cared for Elia, Ned, he cared a lot about me. He truly did love me, you know. I knew that from the beginning. It took me a lot longer to realize that he didn’t seem to differentiate between loving and owning. If I left, he’d just send someone after me. I considered asking for extraction, having the Agency get me out, but extractions can be compromised, and even the Agency can be infiltrated by people as powerful as the Targaryens. If they connected my disappearance with the Agency, they might be able to learn who I was. Then my child would never be safe from them. I couldn’t just leave. I had to disappear. And that took planning and time.”_

_The little boy in her arms began to fuss. “What’s his name?” Ned asked her as he watched her soothe the baby._

_“Rickard,” she said. “But I call him Rick.”_

_“You named after Dad,” Ned said with some surprise._

_She shrugged. “I guess I never got over my Daddy issues. Anyway, I finally came up with what I thought was a good plan. I had a number of fake papers made up for myself, managed to stash some money in several different locations, and had several different options on places to hide. Back-up plans for my back-up plans.” She smiled at the dumbfounded look on Ned’s face. “I was very good at my job, Ned. When I was ready, I sent the Agency a ‘compromised, no contact’ message. Basically that means that my position has been compromised, but trying to contact or aid me would be more dangerous than waiting to hear from me. Essentially, it’s sent by someone who’s figured out they’re very likely to be killed in order to protect the Agency from someone pretending to be them and sending out fake intel. Once that message is sent, any further information from that agent is considered tainted unless the agent actually manages to extract themselves, make contact with the Agency, get thoroughly debriefed, and convince everyone they haven’t become a double agent or something. Most people who send it are never heard from again.” He couldn’t imagine what his face looked like then, but she rolled her eyes at him. “I did tell you I wanted to disappear. And I did . . . for awhile. I had hoped to remain invisible for two years. I thought by then Rhaegar would have found something new to keep his interest and I could come home and be Lyanna again—with no connection whatsoever to a dancer named Rose Winters. I managed to stay hidden for nearly 6 months. It was just after my third move. I knew he had Jon Connington looking for me because I’d spotted Jon twice already. That’s why I kept moving. Jon wasn’t just one of the Targaryen’s most trusted operatives, he’d been Rhaegar’s best friend since they were boys. I always thought Jon had a bit of thing for Rhaegar, actually. Anyway, Jon hated me. It must have galled him to be ordered to track me down. He was too loyal not to do what Rhaegar wanted, though, so he kept at it. And he was annoyingly good at his job. I still don’t know how he located me without my finding him first that last time. But I walked into my little flat one evening to find Rhaegar sitting there like he owned the place. I was eight and a half months pregnant then. There was no hiding that from him as soon as I turned the light on. He was ecstatic. He grabbed me and hugged me and went on about how our child was destined for greatness. It was almost surreal. He behaved as if I’d planned some wonderful surprise for him rather than spent months desperately trying to escape from him. I swear his father was mad. Maybe Rhaegar was going mad, too. Maybe that’s the price you pay for living off the misery of others.”_

_“How did you get away from him?” Ned asked._

_“I didn’t. I knew I’d have to kill him. And that killing him would guarantee that Jon Connington would never stop hunting me so I’d have to kill him, too. But I didn’t know what else to do. And . . . I still loved Rhaegar, Ned. I didn’t know if I could kill him. I told him I loved him. That I’d been scared when I found out I was pregnant. I was scared of the things his family did. He believed that readily enough. He actually asked me if I was a spy and laughed about it, telling me that Jon kept telling him I must be. That an ordinary girl couldn’t run and hide the way I had. And I laughed, too, and told him I must not be a very good spy since he found me. We spent the night together, and when he woke up the next morning, he walked into the kitchen to find me pointing a gun at him. He told me I couldn’t do it. That I belonged to him. That he would keep me and our child safe from everyone. And, he was right. I couldn’t do it. I started to lower my gun. I didn’t know that Jon Connington had let himself into the flat at some point overnight. I didn’t know he was watching us with a gun trained on me. Rhaegar did, though. Because as I lowered my gun, his eyes looked toward something off to my left, and then he shouted, ‘No!’ and threw himself at me. And I heard the shots.”_

_“Connington tried to kill you.”_

_She nodded. “And he killed Rhaegar instead.”_

_“Rhaegar saved your life then.”_

_She nodded once more. “And Rick’s. Jon was distraught. Catatonic really. I turned my gun on him, tied him up, and made a deal with the devil. He had no life except with the Targaryens, you see. And they would hardly welcome back the man who killed their son. Or the man who let their son’s killer escape. I had him write out the events of that morning just as they had happened and sign it. I promised I would keep it in a safety deposit box where it would remain forever as long as I sent a message every month. But as soon as a message did not arrive, that confession would be mailed to the Targaryens. Then I cut my arm and bled all over the floor. I told him that once he managed to free himself, he could do with Rhaegar’s body what he liked, but that he should return to the Targaryens and tell them I killed Rhaegar and he killed me. They’d welcome him back that way. Then I left.”_

_“How’d he get free?”_

_“I have no idea. He was a resourceful man, though, so I knew he would. And I was dead. I’m sure it’s after the Agency heard that Rose Winters was dead through their contacts in the Targaryen organization that you were told Lyanna Stark was dead. And Rose Winters managed to stay dead until just a couple months ago when pure coincidence resurrected her.”_

_“What do you mean, Lya?”_

_“I became Anna Snow. I had my baby in a small fishing village in Essos. I foolishly believed we could stay there forever, Rick and me. I was a fool. There was a stupid measles epidemic of all things, and it was recommended that babies that were too young to be routinely immunized for measles get a vaccine anyway because of the epidemic. I hadn’t gone through all of that for Rick just to have him die of the damn measles so I took him to a vaccine center in another town, nearly a hundred miles from where we were living. It never occurred to me that the wealthy and the nobodies alike would be there in line, protecting their children. I was behind a woman wearing a blue shawl over her hair. She had a maid with her holding a baby. The baby started fussing, and the maid said, ‘I think she wants you, ma’am.’ The woman reached for her and something fell from the baby’s wrappings as she handed over—some sort of little toy. I bent to pick it up and said, ‘Excuse me, I think you dropped this.’ And the woman turned around. I’d forgotten she was pregnant when I left. It had been quite the surprise as she’d believed she was too old to have more children. I was standing there staring at Rhaella Targaryen, and she was staring at the woman she thought had murdered her son. I couldn’t move at first, and then she saw Rick. And her eyes got very wide and she whispered, “Is he Rhaegar’s?” And I just ran. I heard her shout for someone. No doubt she had guards with her, but I didn’t stop until I found someplace to hide before slowly making my way back home. I kept waiting for someone to show up and take Rick, but no one did. I knew they would, though. Now that they knew I was alive and that he existed, they’d never stop looking for us. So I started planning to come here. I left rather obvious trails for them to follow around Essos. By the time they realize I’ve left the continent, I’ll be back on it, leading them around again.”_

_“Why did you come?”_

_“To give you Rick, of course.”_

_“To do what?”_

_“I can’t keep him, Ned. That’s clear now. I’m going to run for the rest of my life, and eventually someone will kill me. That’s not what I want for my son. I want him to have a home. A family. A life. So I’ve made him yours.”_

_“Mine? Lyanna, you can’t be serious.”_

_“I’m dead serious, Ned.” She held the baby out to him. “Meet your son.”_

He’d been so lost in the past, he almost didn’t see Robb standing in front of him waving his arms. Ned turned off the tractor, and Robb ran over to him. 

“I tried to yell at you, but I guess that old thing’s too loud. You really ought to wear ear protection on it.”

“I’m wearing a hat,” Ned said, and Robb actually smiled, although not for very long.

“Sansa texted me. They want us to come in and eat dinner.”

“I’m not finished.”

“Close enough,” Robb said. “Come eat dinner with everybody.”

“I’ll be inside in just a little bit, Robb. I promise.”

Robb’s face expression darkened at that. “Yeah, Dad. You promise.” Then he turned and walked toward the house without another word.

Ned watched him walk away. _I promise._

He started the tractor back up, determined to finish his task, again thinking back on that day when he had held Jon for the first time in that non-descript little apartment while Lyanna gave him a birth certificate that looked very official and was completely falsified. She told him Rick had never actually had a real birth certificate as she’d given birth at home with only a local woman to help. She also gave him the attorney’s letter (from a man who didn’t exist) and the letter from Anna Snow. That, at least had been a name Lyanna had used, but the Anna Snow of the letter had given birth to a son in an entirely different country, one where Ned had been at the time of Rick’s conception. She even had a letter confirming paternity dated for the following day which Ned would theoretically be given after providing a DNA sample that afternoon. She’d spent an hour while Rick napped going over Ned’s story. _You have to repeat it so often that you believe it,_ she told him. _If you believe it, so will everyone else._

It was only when they were going over everything for the last time that Ned spotted the discrepancy on the birth certificate. 

_“This says Jon Snow. I thought his name was Rickard.”_

_Lyanna looked almost guilty. “I used his middle name.”_

_“Jon? His middle name is after the man who tried to kill you?”_

_She shrugged. “And ended up setting me free. At least I thought so at the time. We both know I have issues when it comes to men.”_

_“But why not let him be Rickard? You already told me the Targaryens have no knowledge of you as anything other than Rose Winters. If they don’t know the name Stark, they won’t be looking for the name Rickard.”_

_“It’s a bit unusual, though. There are millions of Jons. And . . . I didn’t think your wife would appreciate your bastard being named after your father.”_

_He hadn’t thought of that. Cat had actually suggested Rickard for a boy while pregnant with Robb. Once Robert Baratheon saved Ned’s life in battle, however, their son’s name had been decided. “She’ll understand, though, once I explain it to her. Your son doesn’t have to lose his name, Lya.”_

_“Your son,” Lyanna corrected. “Whose name is Jon. And that is all Catelyn will ever know.”_

_“I’m not lying to Cat, Lyanna. I’ll lie to the whole damn world. I’ll keep your son for you until it’s safe for you to be with him again. I’ll protect him with my life. But I’ll not have Catelyn believe I cheated on her. She’ll never forgive me, and I’d never forgive myself for hurting her like that.”_

_“She’ll forgive you. She loves you, Ned. I don’t know her at all, really. But anybody at your wedding could see she thinks you hung the moon.”_

_“I can’t do that to her. I won’t.”_

_“You have to!” Lyanna insisted. “Don’t you understand? It’s the only way. If she thinks Jon is your son, everyone will believe it. She’ll be hurt, yes, but she’ll get over it. There are worse things than having your husband stick his dick where it doesn’t belong one time. Millions of women get over that. Just be very contrite and keep showing her how much you love her.”_

_“She’ll get over it?” Ned asked in disbelief. “That’s damn easy for you to say, Lya, but . . .”_

_“No, Ned! It’s not easy! Nothing about this is easy for me. This is the hardest damn thing I’ve ever done in my life. Don’t you get it? You aren’t babysitting him, Ned! This isn’t for a few days or even a few years. I will never see my son again! If I come near him, I could put him in danger. I could put you in danger—or Catelyn and your little boy. I know very well that I’m asking a hell of a lot from you, but I’m giving up a hell of a lot, too. I’m giving up my son. My home. You. Everything I love. So that Rick . . . so that Jon can grow up safely. In a real home with a father who loves him. So, yes, I’m asking you to take this secret to the grave. And that will cost you something. But Jon is worth it. He’s your blood, Ned. Same as mine. Be his family. Your silence will keep him and all of your family safe. I can promise you that. I’ll never come back. I’ll never put any of you at risk.”_

_“Lyanna . . . Catelyn will be his family, too. How can I ask her to be a mother to a boy I tell her is my child with another woman? I can tell her the truth. She will never speak it again. She’s my wife, Lya, and I can trust her with my life.”_

_“Well, I can’t trust her with Rick’s,” Lyanna said flatly. “I can’t trust anyone but you, Ned. And if she doesn’t want to be his mother, well, he has a mother. He has a mother who loves him more than her own life. Who loves him enough to do everything I’ve done and even enough to ask this of you. Promise me you will tell no one that he isn’t your son. Not even Catelyn.”_

_“Lyanna, I can’t . . .”_

_“Promise me, Ned!” She began crying. “I’ve done everything I can. I can’t do anything more for my son. Please let me at least know that he’s safe. That everything I’ve done is worth it because he has a real father now. The best father he could ever have. The only person I’ve ever known who actually keeps his promises.”_

_“Lyanna, I promise you I will be his father. I will love him just as I do my own son. He’ll be my own son. Robb and . . . Jon. Robb and Jon, my sons. That’s how it will be, and I’ll allow no harm to come to either of them. I promise you all of that, but . . .”_

_“There can be no buts, Ned. Any whisper to the wrong person could be deadly. People will be angry at you over this, you know. Indignant on Catelyn’s behalf. What if her brother breaks your nose? What if her father tells her to leave you? You don’t think she’d be tempted to defend you to these people? ‘Please don’t hate my husband. He never really cheated, but it’s a secret. Please don’t tell.’ And then some small-minded, pompous old biddy at that pretentious church Hoster Tully attends starts in on him about his daughter’s faithless husband parading the fruit of his sin in her face. You don’t think he’s going to want to leap to his daughter’s defense? ‘Well, you can’t tell anyone Mrs. Nosy Bitch, but . . .”_

_“Stop it! None of that will happen. I trust Catelyn. You have to believe me on this. You can trust me, Lyanna.”_

_“I do trust you, Ned. That’s why I want your promise. Because once you promise, I know you’ll keep it. I’m sorry for this. I truly am. But I know these people, Ned, and you don’t. They are rich, they are powerful, and they take what they want with no thought for anyone else. I have to leave here before tomorrow. To stay any longer is to give them a chance to realize I’ve left Essos, and I can’t have them looking this way. And I have to leave my son here. Because to take him back with me is to offer him no life at all. But if I leave without your promise, I will live and die knowing that all I’ve sacrificed may be in vain because of one wrong word to the wrong person from someone I barely know or even someone I’ve never met. One wrong word could put my son in the hands of people who will warp him or kill him. Who would kill you and yours just to have him. One wrong word. It’s a terrible thing, but a true thing, Ned. Some secrets are too dangerous to share, even with someone you trust.”_

_“You’re sharing this secret with me.”_

_“I know I can count on you, Ned. You always do what needs to be done. And still, if I had a choice, I wouldn’t share it. Promise me, Ned.”_

_She was pleading with him, just as she had so often as a girl, when she’d come to him for rescue from Brandon’s teasing or their father’s sometimes too harsh expectations. He would never see her again, and this promise would be the last thing she ever asked of him. His response would be the last thing she remembered of him. How could he send her away believing that he’d failed her? She was losing everything. And the danger was real. Safety lay in secrecy._

_“I don’t know if I can lie to her, Lyanna. I’ve never lied to her.”_

_“You can barely lie to anyone, sweet Ned. That’s why you have to bury me deep. Bury everything that you know about me and a baby named Rickard Snow deep. And only believe in your son, Jon. And I promise if everyone around you knows only your son, Jon, it will get easier for you to believe it, too, over time. But if Catelyn knows anything else, then the two of you will certainly speak of it in private. You’ll be careful, but you still might be overheard. You can’t possibly bury it deeply enough, Ned, once you share it with anyone. Promise me.”_

_Her words had some merit, and yet it still felt wrong to tell such a hurtful, hateful lie to Cat. But Cat had her own son safely with her at home. God willing, they’d have other children as well. Lyanna would never hold her son again after today, and Ned would be the only parent, the only safety Jon would have. Catelyn would forgive him. She had to forgive him. He couldn’t lose her. He wouldn’t lose her. He’d lose Lyanna after today. He’d lose her all over again. But however hurt and angry Catelyn was, he would hold onto her. He promised himself that._

_“Promise me, Ned,” Lyanna insisted again._

_“I promise. I’ll tell no one that Jon isn’t mine.”_

_“Not even Catelyn.”_

_“Not even Catelyn.” The words nearly choked him. “I promise.”_

_At his words, the frenetic energy that had seemed to animate Lyanna as she demanded his promise left her, and she collapsed onto the floor and began to cry. Ned sat down beside her and held onto her. When she finally stopped crying, she actually smiled at him and said simply, “Thank you.” She then went to pick Jon up from where he was sleeping on the floor. The boy woke instantly and smiled at her. “I love you, Rick,” she said, kissing him atop his head. “Forever and ever, you are my baby boy.” She held him tightly and looked at Ned. “There are baby things packed in two bags in the other room. I’m assuming you know how to take care of an infant since you have one. I’ll be leaving now.”_

_“You’ll be what?”_

_“It has to be this way. I can’t watch you leave with him, Ned. And if I don’t go now, I’m afraid I won’t. And I have to.” She tiptoed up to kiss his cheek. “Goodbye, big brother. I love you.” Then she smiled at the child in her arms. “Go to Daddy now, Jon, and be a good boy.” She handed him to Ned, picked up her purse and walked out of the apartment with nothing else._

He’d cleared a path easily navigable for Catelyn’s SUV. Provided the plow truck drivers got out in the morning to do the roads, she could leave tomorrow. He drove the tractor back into its place and started to walk to the house. He’d never wanted to lie to Catelyn back then, but Lyanna had needed his promise. It wasn’t about his trust in Catelyn. It never had been. 

Yet with every step he took through the snow, those words rang more hollow in his head.

He saw Robb’s hurt, angry eyes. _It’s kinda hard to trust you right now._

Cat’s weary resignation. _I don’t know if I can trust you anymore._

Arya’s angry confusion. _I’m mad at you for acting like you don’t know Mom at all._

Jon’s surprisingly passionate defense of Catelyn. _She isn’t in here telling all your deep, dark secrets to get back at you if that’s what you think!_

And most damningly, the tears in Catelyn’s eyes and her brokenhearted whisper. _There was a time when you knew you didn’t have to ask me, Ned._

It was all about trust. He’d lost the trust of each and every one of them. And he deserved to lose it. Yet the absence of that trust pained him in a way that nothing had before.

 _Do you love me at all?_ When he had come to her with an infant boy and a tale of infidelity, Catelyn had feared he didn’t love her, and he’d done everything in his power to reassure her he did, never once attempting to excuse what he’d done, sincerely asking her forgiveness.

When he’d told her the truth of Jon’s parentage and his subterfuge, she’d never questioned his love. She’d asked why he hadn’t trusted her. She believed he didn’t trust her and he’d done very little to reassure her that he did. He’d spoken of the danger to Jon, of his promise to Lyanna, had even told her it had nothing to do with trust. He’d made every excuse possible for what he’d done. 

Yet to her, how could it not be about trust? How could she not feel the painful absence of trust that he now felt so acutely? Only, unlike him, she’d done nothing to deserve it. He’d lied to her for nearly their entire marriage, even confessing to adultery he hadn’t committed in order to keep a secret from the world. To keep a secret from her. How was that not about trust?

“I was wrong, Cat,” he whispered. “I should have told you. Sixteen and a half years ago when I carried Jon into that house, I should have told you the truth.”

 _Maybe you should apologize,_ Jon’s voice reached out to him from their conversation in the kitchen.

 _Sorry doesn’t magically fix things._ How many times had he heard Catelyn tell that to the children over the years when they offered up apologies of varying sincerity for all manner of childish crimes and misdemeanors.

As he stepped into the mudroom, stomping the snow off his boots, he paused and closed his eyes. _I know sorry doesn’t magically fix things, but I am sorry, Cat. Oh, god, I am so sorry._

He could hear laughter and the plinking of the piano keys in the great room. When he walked in, he saw Sansa and Jon sitting together on the bench. Sansa looked up and saw him.

“It’s about time, Dad! You’d better hurry if you want any pizza. Robb, Arya, Bran, and Rickon are still eating!”

“Pizza?” he asked.

“The frozen pizzas we bought yesterday,” Jon clarified. “Catelyn doctored them up though so they’re actually really good. She fixed salad, too.”

“Then what are you two doing in here?”

“Practicing,” Sansa laughed. “Jon doesn’t need it, but I haven’t played in ages.”

“Neither have I!” Jon protested.

“But you’re better than I am, anyway!”

Jon started to protest, and Sansa gave him a look that clearly said he shouldn’t, and the resemblance to her mother was unmistakable. Jon wisely decided against contradicting her. He truly was the best piano player in the family—he’d had a natural talent for all sorts of music since he was small. Catelyn had made all the kids take piano lessons at one point. (Except Rickon, who rather vehemently expressed his opposition to such an idea, and had been born late enough that Ned and Catelyn were too tired to fight him on it. After all, Robb, Bran, and Arya had never particularly taken to it, and their lessons hadn’t lasted long. Only Sansa and Jon truly enjoyed it and had continued to take formal lessons until high school and teenaged social engagements began to fill too many of their hours. Sansa played well, despite her modesty, and Jon could just about play anything asked of him.

“It isn’t a very ringing endorsement of these pizzas if you’re out here banging on a piano instead of eating,” Ned teased.

“They’re great!” Sansa insisted rather indignantly. “Mom can make anything delicious! We ate plenty already. You just took forever to come inside, and we’re not gluttons like the others.”

“I was dragged out here,” Jon offered.

Sansa elbowed him hard. “You were not. You volunteered!”

“What are you practicing, anyway?” Ned asked, honestly curious.

“Christmas carols,” Sansa said. “We’re all going to sing after dinner.” Now her expression dared him to contradict that statement, and he almost laughed aloud at the uncanny resemblance to Catelyn in that face.

“As I recall, the enthusiasm for that particular tradition has waned a bit among you children in recent years. And don’t we usually wait until Christmas Eve for that?” In truth, what used to be a good hour at least of Catelyn and all the children singing Christmas songs (with him making a poor attempt at the ones where he knew a few words) at this piano when they were small, first with Cat playing accompaniment and later Jon or Sansa, had dwindled to two or three people begging multiple fairly unwilling people to at least do 2 or 3 carols because it was ‘tradition.’ After about age twelve, it seemed the fervor for endless Christmas caroling dwindled for most people other than true Christmas music devotees like his wife and older daughter. Cat isn’t my wife.

“Everyone wants to sing this year,” Sansa insisted. More quietly, she added, “And we’re doing it tonight because Mom’s here.” She looked at Ned with something like hope in her eyes. “Were you able to get Mom’s car out?” she asked. “Or is it too stuck?”

He knew his answer wasn’t the one she was hoping for. “It’s clear,” he said. “I’m going to call Galbart and ask if he’s sending his crews out overnight, but as long the plows clear the roads early, your mother will be able to leave as early as she likes tomorrow.”

Sansa’s disappointment was evident. “Don’t say that like it’s a good thing. I’m pretty sure you don’t want her to go, either, after . . .” Sansa stopped speaking, and her cheeks colored slightly. 

Ned wondered dismally if all his children were speculating about his and Catelyn’s time alone together in the house today. He hoped not. And if they were, hoped that not all of their speculations followed the same lines as Robb’s did. “I don’t want her to leave, Sansa,” Ned said honestly, “But I don’t want her forced to stay here. She should do what she feels is best.”

“Well, she’s going to love the Christmas carols tonight,” Sansa said firmly, and Ned realized this sudden enthusiasm for carols a day early was an attempt on the part of his children to make their mother want to stay. The rather guilty expression on Jon’s face as he avoided Ned’s eyes confirmed that suspicion.

“I’m sure she will. But, I suppose I’d better go fight for some scraps.”

He left them there at the piano and left the great room smiling. Jon and Sansa probably spent less time together, just the two of them, than any of the childen. Sansa was extremely close to Cat, and she’d distanced herself from Jon quite a bit during his challenging years, and he’d thought her an annoying little snitch. The piano had been one thing they always shared, and considering his conversation with Catelyn about Jon earlier today, he now wondered if Cat had always scheduled their lessons together (once all the others quit) intentionally to encourage them to share something.

He then made a quick call to Galbart Glover, who was in charge of road maintenance and clearance in the district, and then made his way to the kitchen.

“It’s about time, Dad!” Arya said around a mouthful of pizza when he walked into the kitchen. “It hasn’t been easy to save you anything with these guys eating everything in sight.”

“Says the girl talking with her mouth full,” retorted Bran who was seated across from her, and Arya threw a half-eaten breadstick at him. 

“Arya! You are officially on kitchen clean-up,” Catelyn proclaimed from her seat at the end of the table. The plate in front of her was empty, but she held a glass of red wine which was about half full. As Robb had told him earlier, Cat was now wearing a black turtle-neck sweater. She’d left her hair down, too. Ned supposed she’d done that for added coverage of her neck, but all he could think was that he liked it much better that way. And that he liked the way that sweater fit her and how its color set off her fair skin.

Rickon, seated between Cat and Bran, waved at Ned but didn’t stop eating, and Robb, who was seated opposite Cat with his back to the doorway, didn’t even acknowledge Ned’s entrance.

“Self-service tonight, Ned,” Cat said. “You know where the plates are. What’s left of the pizza is on the stove, and the salad and breadsticks are on the counter beside it.”

“Breadstick,” Bran corrected. “We ate all but one. Mom said we had to save that one. Are you going to eat it?”

“How many did you eat, Bran?” Ned asked him.

“I don’t know. Three, maybe?”

“Then, yes. I am eating that breadstick with no guilt whatsoever.” He grabbed a plate from the cabinet and picked up two pieces of pizza along with the sole surviving breadstick. He stuck a fork into the big salad bowl and took a bite. “Mmm. This is good, Cat,” he said.

“Stop eating out of the serving bowl, Ned.” 

He turned around and saw that she had made that pronouncement with her back to him. “How do you know what I . . .”

“I know you,” she replied calmly, still not looking around and taking a sip of her wine. Arya, Bran, and Rickon all laughed, and Bran said, “Busted, Dad!”

If felt for a moment like any one of the countless dinners they’d all eaten here until Robb said, “Dinner was good, Mom. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to join Jon and Sansa.” Ned busied himself putting salad on his plate, but he heard Robb push his chair back and leave the kitchen without another word, and the illusion of a happy family meal was broken. 

When he carried his plate to the table, he took the empty seat beside Arya rather than the one Robb had vacated.

“The least he could have done was put his plate in the dishwasher,” Arya huffed. “Now, I suppose that’s my job, too.”

“Yes,” said both of her parents from either side of her, and she actually laughed. 

“Well,” she said, “I’m full so I guess I’ll get started on my labor. Dad, you didn’t get a drink. Want something as long as I’m playing kitchen slave?”

“I opened a bottle of red,” Catelyn said lifting up her glass and waving her hand her toward the counter by the sink.

“I’ll get it, Arya,” Ned said. “You’re not old enough to serve alcohol.” He winked at her, and she rolled her eyes, as he stood again and retrieved the bottle, setting it down on the table and getting a wineglass for himself.

No one spoke much then. Ned was honestly quite hungry after working out in the snow and occupied himself with eating. After a bit, Arya said, “Bran, you’re not eating anymore. Why don’t you help me with this, and we can get out of the kitchen sooner?"

“You’re the one who threw bread! I can leave the kitchen whenever . . . oh!” He drew out the word ‘oh’ into about five syllables, and while he was looking at Bran rather than Arya, Ned had no doubt that his daughter was giving her brother a very meaningful look. “I mean, sure! That’s a great idea.” He hopped up, grabbing his plate and Rickon’s.

“Hey! I wasn’t done yet!” Rickon protested.

“Yes, you are,” Bran informed him. “There’s nothing left on this plate but salad, and you don’t even like salad.”

“I like croutons with dressing on them!” Rickon informed him.

“Okay, there’s one crouton left.” Bran picked a crouton off Rickon’s plate and handed it to him. “Eat that and go see what the big kids are doing.”

“I am a big kid,” Rickon said, sticking his tongue out at Bran, but then he looked at Catelyn. “Can I be excused?”

“May I, Rickon,” she corrected him. “But, yes.”

As Rickon bounced out of the kitchen, Catelyn caught Ned’s eye. She then glanced quickly toward Arya and Bran over by the sink and rolled her own eyes. Ned stifled a laugh as he realized that she, too, was aware of the fact that the two dishwashers were repeatedly looking back at the two of them and mouthing things to each other.

“I got your car unstuck, Cat,” he said. “And I called Galbart Glover. He’s already got his crews out working, and he said they should have the roads done all the way up here before sunrise.”

That put a damper on the moment of shared enjoyment of their children, and Ned almost regretted saying it when he watched the shadow come back into her eyes. But he needed her to know she wasn’t a prisoner here.

“Thank you, Ned,” she said simply. “Robb said he thought you were determined to clear me a path to the gate before coming in to eat.”

Was that disappointment he heard in her voice? Or hurt? God, he didn’t want her to think he was trying to get rid of her. “You’re welcome to stay, of course,” he said quickly, and then realized that sounded like a generic, possibly insincere, offer that any decently polite host would make. “I mean, I’d like for you to stay as long as you want.” He swallowed. “But I wanted you to be able to do what you’d like.”

“You should definitely stay here, Mom,” Arya said. “It’s dumb to go sit in King’s Landing by yourself on Christmas Eve when you’re already here.”

“You will stay, won’t you, Mom?” Bran piped up.

“We’ll see,” Catelyn said, handing her empty wine glass to Ned. “Would you pour me a bit more? If I’m expected to sing this evening, I think I’ll need it.”

“You sing great, Mom,” Bran said enthusiastically. “And if you stay, we can all sing tomorrow night, too!”

“I didn’t realize you were so into music this year, son!” she said, smirking a little as she accepted her wineglass back from Ned. “Last year, you proclaimed you were too old for that nonsense and wouldn’t sing at all.”

Ned had just taken a drink of his wine and began coughing. 

“Well . . . I was dumb last year,” Bran said.

Arya rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Are you both finished with your plates?” That was addressed to Catelyn and him, and they both answered in the affirmative.

“We’ll get our glasses, and I’ll wipe the table, Arya,” Catelyn told her. "You and Bran may escape from the kitchen now.”

“Well, you have to come, too!” Bran exclaimed. “We can’t sing without you!”

Arya elbowed him. “Take your time,” she told them, and then she pulled Bran out of the kitchen.

“Our children are trying to manage us,” Catelyn said. 

“Yep,” Ned replied, taking another sip of his wine as his choking laughter had subsided enough for him to safely do so again. “Poor Bran, though. You really called him on his sudden zeal about Christmas carols.”

“Well, he was overselling it a bit much, don’t you think?” She sighed. “I know what they’re trying to do, Ned. So do you. And I’ll be honest. The longer I stay, the more I don’t want to leave. The thought of not being with them on Christmas Eve is . . .”

“Then stay, Cat! They all want you to. I want you to. I promise I won’t do anything to make you uncomfortable.”

She laughed at that. “I’m afraid our children have been doing that well enough this evening—the older ones anyway. It seems the sudden appearance of a turtleneck sweater on someone who doesn’t normally wear them is greeted with the same suspicion by this generation of high schoolers as it was by ours. They certainly seem to suspect we did something of a . . . romantic nature while they were all outside.” She jerked her head sideways toward the door as she said ‘outside,’ and Ned could see the top of the now deep purple bruise on the side of her neck, just as Robb had described.

“Yes,” he said, hesitating. “You might want to hold your head straight, Cat. When you tilt . . .” He demonstrated. “Well, Robb actually saw the hickey.”

“Oh dear lord, they’ve got more than suspicion to go on then.” She shook her head.

“It’s worse. Bran noticed I had my shirt on backwards.”

“You had your shirt on backwards? Oh my god! And Bran noticed?” She shook her head again. 

“To be fair, I think Bran might have actually bought my story. But he mentioned the shirt to Robb.”

“That explains a great deal,” Catelyn said quietly. “But this is why I can’t stay, Ned. At least three, if not four or five of them are now all imagining that you and I are on the verge of reconciliation and spent the afternoon making out while they played in the snow. If I stay, they’ll simply indulge that fantasy even more. I can’t do that to them.” She looked at him levelly. “I’m not ashamed of what happened this afternoon, Ned. We’re adults. And we’re two people who’ve been married a long time. I can’t imagine there not being some . . . unresolved attraction . . . between us. But we can’t let that happen again, and we can’t let the children think it means something more. It will only confuse and hurt them.”

“Robb doesn’t think it means a reconciliation,” Ned stated, preferring to focus on his older son rather than Cat’s referring to what lay between them as ‘unresolved attraction’ or proclaiming that it could never happen again as if there were no other options. “He thinks I’m a horny old bastard who cheated on you with Jon’s mother and pretended to be a good man all these years only to cheat on you again with another woman and then took advantage of you today because I want to have my cake and eat it, too.”

“Oh, Ned!” she exclaimed in dismay. “The way he looked at me before announcing he was going out to shovel snow! I mean I’m used to them all watching me too closely now. It’s exhausting trying to stand up to their scrutiny, to be honest—constantly trying to assure them I’m not going to break or crumble into pieces. But today, Robb looked absolutely devastated when he looked at me. But furious as well. I was afraid you two would argue.”

“We didn’t argue, really. He shouted at me a bit. Called me a few names I probably deserved, threw around a few accusations, some well-founded, some not. And he shoved me once.”

“Ned!”

“I didn’t take well to being shoved by my son, I admit. And he was very wrong about a lot of things. But he was very right about others. And while it kills me to have him so angry at me right now, I’m proud of him, Cat. I’m very proud of our boy because he’s becoming a man who stands up for the people he loves. Which is what a man should do.”

There were tears in her eyes. “I’ll talk to him, Ned,” she said.

He shook his head. “This is between Robb and me. I intend to be patient, to be as honest as I can be, and to let him hopefully learn to trust me again in time. This isn’t your mess to fix.”

“Well, I’m the one who pulled your shirt off today. I’ll not have our son thinking I was in any way an unwilling or a . . . hoodwinked participant. We made that particular mess together, and I’ll not have him assign you all the blame.”

 _Blame._ “Cat, there’s something I need to say to you . . .”

“Mommy! Daddy! Come on!! We’re all ready to sing!” Rickon’s entrance into the kitchen put an end to their conversation as their son began tugging at both of them to drag them into the great room.

Over an hour later, Ned had to admit he’d enjoyed himself. The kids, in spite of having done this specifically for Catelyn, seemed to enjoy themselves, too. Robb didn’t say much to him, but he and Jon put on a highly entertaining performance from the old kiddie Christmas show **The Year Without a Santa Claus** with Jon playing Snow Miser and Robb playing Heat Miser. All the kids except Sansa who was playing piano for that one, got up and danced with the older boys at some points during the song, and he and Catelyn didn’t stop laughing from start to finish. Sansa and Arya sang “I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas” while Jon played piano and Rickon scampered around on all fours portraying the hippopotamus in question with great enthusiasm. Rickon sang “Jingle Bells” all by himself while shaking a tambourine someone dug up from somewhere and was exceedingly proud of himself. And, of course there were the family sing-alongs to classics like “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas,” “Silent Night,” “Joy to the World,” “Silver Bells,” “Away In a Manger” and any number of songs that everyone, even Rickon, knew more words to than Ned did. 

Finally, during a break in the music during which everyone was gorging themselves on a variety of Christmas cookies and lemon cakes and other sweets, Jon asked Catelyn if she would sing “Oh Holy Night,” and she hesitated. 

“I’d rather just keep singing carols with all of you,” she told him. 

Jon just shook his head. “Please, Cat. I’ve been practicing the accompaniment, and you sing it so well. I know everyone would love to hear you sing it.” 

That was met by loud statements of agreement by all the children, but Ned was stricken silent as he watched the tears form in Catelyn’s eyes. He wouldn’t have noticed it if she hadn’t specifically spoken of it earlier. _He hasn’t called me Cat since he was about eight years old, you know._

After a moment, she said softly, “I’d love to sing with you, Jon." 

Ned sat transfixed as Jon offered her a hand to pull her from her chair and lead her over to stand beside him as he sat on the piano bench. He asked if she was ready, and at her nod began to play. It was a beautiful tune, and Jon played it marvelously. Ned had almost forgotten the song had words until Catelyn began to sing. 

“Oh, holy night, the stars are brightly shining. It is the night of our dear savior’s birth. Long lay the world in sin and error pining ‘til he appeared, and the soul felt its worth. A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices, for yonder breaks a new and glorious morn. Fall on your knees. Oh, hear the angel voices. Oh night, divine. Oh, night when Christ was born. Oh night divine, oh night, oh night divine.” 

Her voice was clear and lovely, and it touched every fiber of his being. He barely even registered the words of the next verse as he was caught up in the sound of her voice, and her beautiful face, and the magic of Jon’s fingers on the piano keys. 

When the song ended, the kids all whooped and cheered, and Arya put her fingers in her mouth and gave a rather piercingly loud whistle, but Ned could scarcely breathe as Jon got up from the piano bench, took Catelyn by the hand, and made her take a bow. Then she kissed him on the cheek and made him do the same. It was a moment he never wanted to end. 

But then Rickon spoke up. “Sing the Santa song now, Mommy!” 

“What Santa song, Rickon? “ Catelyn asked, obviously prepared to meet her son’s request. 

“The funny one!” he exclaimed. “You know. Baby Santa! And make Daddy wear the hat!” 

Catelyn’s face fell, and Ned felt the joy and warmth leave the room. Last Christmas, most of the kids had groaned over the whole caroling on Christmas Eve thing, but the highlight of the evening had been Catelyn putting a Santa hat on his head and singing “Santa Baby” complete with theatrical pouts and tickling his beard. It had been Sansa’s idea, and she’d learned to play it just so they could harass him. He’d played along, grabbing at Cat as she’d sung and making comically lecherous faces. The kids had laughed, made gagging gestures, rolled their eyes, and Robb had shouted “Get a room!” when he’d pulled her in for a kiss at the conclusion. But they’d all clapped loudly. 

“I don’t think we need that one this year, Rickon,” Catelyn said softly. 

“Hey, Rick, we haven’t done “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” yet, and that’s one we can all sing,” Jon said quickly. 

“Oh, yeah!” Arya chimed in. “Let’s do that one!” 

Jon immediately began playing it, and everyone sang. Ned watched Catelyn carefully and knew she wasn’t all right. When the song ended, she gave Rickon a big hug. “That was a good one, baby,” she said. “I think I need a break, though. You all keep singing, and I’ll be right back.” 

“Mommy, will you sleep in my bed instead of Sansa’s tonight?” Rickon asked. 

She ruffled his hair. “Of course I will, sweetling. I promise.” Then she kissed him on the head and left the great room. 

“Damn!” Arya said when she’d gone. “Why’d you have to bring that up, Rickon?” 

“What?” Rickon asked, his lower lip beginning to tremble as he realized Arya was angry. 

“Arya, hush!” Ned said rather harshly. He took a breath and spoke more calmly. “Your brother is in the first grade, Arya. He asked for a song that made him laugh. That’s all.” 

Arya looked appropriately contrite, and everyone was silent for a moment. Into that silence, Rickon spoke up. “Daddy, when Mommy comes back, can you and her sing the one about the cold outside?” 

“Fuck,” Robb murmured under his breath, and Ned glared at him. 

He and Cat had been singing “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” to entertain the kids for years. The children always loved it because he couldn’t actually sing at all which cracked them up, he could never remember the words and just made things up to make them giggle, and Catelyn, who knew all the words, would change them anyway to make fun of him for the children’s entertainment. 

“No, Rickon,” he said simply. “That’s a song that married people sing together, and we’ve told you that Mommy and Daddy aren’t going to be married anymore.” 

“So you can’t live in the same house or sleep in the same bed. Tommen didn’t say anything about not singing songs!” Rickon protested. 

Ned wondered just how much time Tommen Baratheon had spent attempting to educate his younger two sons on divorce. Sighing deeply, he tried to respond to Rickon. “Your mother and I can still sing,” he assured him. “We’ve been singing Christmas carols with all of you tonight, and we can always do that if you’d like. But . . . there are some songs that just don’t . . . well, they don’t make sense when we aren’t married.” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Robb interjected. “I’ve always thought ‘Baby, It’s Cold Outside’ is kind of rapey so . . .” 

“Robb! Hush!” Sansa exclaimed at the same time that Jon said, “Give it a rest, Robb.” 

Robb just shook his head and walked off toward the game room, and everyone else stood there a moment until Sansa said, “I think we all need some hot chocolate.” 

“Yes,” Ned said immediately. “That’s exactly what we need. If you don’t mind making some, I need to go upstairs and get something for your mother.” 

Sansa looked at him questioningly, but then nodded. 

He knew where she’d gone. And he knew she’d get cold. He went up to their bedroom and got the shawl she loved so much—the one she always kept hanging on the hook just inside the closet door. When he came back downstairs, no one was in the great room. He found Sansa in the kitchen, stirring a pot of chocolate. “They’re all in the game room,” she said before he could ask. “Arya wanted to go look for Mom, but I told her you were getting something for her, and we should all just let her be. She actually listened.” 

“Robb’s with everyone else?” 

She nodded. “He didn’t mean that, Daddy. He’s just . . .” 

“It’s all right, Sansa. I understand why Robb is angry with me. I’m angry with me.” 

She looked up at him. “I don’t want to be angry at you, Daddy. I’m tired of always having to be angry at somebody. Can’t you fix this?” 

Ned sighed. “I don’t know, Sansa. I honestly don’t know.” 

She let out a loud breath. “When I was a little girl, I believed you could fix anything. You were my hero, Daddy. I’m not a little girl anymore. I’m fifteen. And I know that even good people mess up. Even smart people do dumb things. And people who love each other aren’t always good to each other. But, Daddy, I need you to fix this.” Tears pooled in those eyes so like her mother’s. “I need you to be my hero more than I ever did when I was little.” 

Ned sighed. “I’m not a hero, Sansa, even though I want to be. For you. For Arya. For your brothers.” 

“For Mom?” she asked, her voice trembling a bit. 

“Yes, Sansa,” he said without hesitation. “If I could be your mother’s hero, I would.” Then he smiled at her. “Maybe you can help me be her hero in one small way. How about you give me a cup of hot chocolate to take to her?” 

Sansa smiled at him. “You’ve got it.” 

He knew he’d find her here. If Catelyn was troubled at night, she liked to look at the stars. At Riverrun, she’d lie on the bank of the river and gaze into the sky. In King’s Landing, she’d get in her car and drive to the edge of town and then sit on the hood of the car, still lamenting that the lights of the city hid entirely too many stars. Here, at Winterfell, she’d go to the sun porch. In the summer, it was open, but in the winter it was enclosed in glass, and the stars were visible through the glass walls and roof. 

She sat in a rocking chair looking out toward the mountains in the distance, and she didn’t hear him come in. It was chillier here than in the rest of the house which is why he’d gotten her shawl. He walked up behind her and laid it over her shoulders. She hugged it around herself and sighed. 

“Thank you,” she said without turning around. 

“I brought you this, too,” he said, stepping around the chair to stand beside her and holding out the hot chocolate. 

She looked at it and smiled sadly. “I’m sorry I ran,” she said. “I just . . .” 

“It’s all right,” he said quickly. 

“No,” she said. “It isn’t.” She sighed. “They watch me so closely, Ned. They’re so afraid for me. And they aren’t supposed to be taking care of me. I’m supposed to be taking care of them. I need to be stronger.” 

“You’re the strongest person I know,” he said simply. 

She closed her eyes. “Please don’t do that,” she said. “It hurts when you say the right things to me. I know that sounds stupid, but . . .” 

“There is only one right thing I can say to you, Cat.” 

She looked up at him and waited. He sighed deeply and held out the hot chocolate again, and this time she took it. 

“I’m sorry, Cat. I was wrong.” 

She took a cautious sip of the hot chocolate and then said, “I’m afraid you’re going to have to be more specific, Ned.” 

He laughed. How could she do that? Make him laugh when he was terrified. Make him laugh when he was filled with guilt, and grief, and desperation. “I suppose I deserve that comment.” 

She didn’t reply. 

“I was wrong at the beginning of it all.” Her eyes snapped up to meet his then. “When I brought Jon home, I watched your heart break. I saw what I’d done to you, and I very nearly told you the truth then. I should have. I was wrong to lie, Cat. And I knew it. I knew it then, but I did it anyway, and the reasons are hard to explain, but . . . they don’t matter really. Because whatever my reasons, I was wrong. I made you think that perhaps I didn’t love you. And that is unforgivable. And by lying for all those years, I made you believe that I don’t trust you when nothing could be further from the truth. And when you confronted me once you knew the truth, I never said that, did I? I never told you how much I trust you. How much your trust means to me. I said a lot about Lyanna, but I didn’t say anything about you. I was too scared. Too guilty. And too damn busy justifying myself to just admit I’d been wrong. And I’m sorry.” 

“You should have told me,” she whispered. 

“I know. And I’m scared to death that I waited too long to admit that. I’m scared to death that I’ve waited too long to make it right.” 

“Ned,” she said, looking at him sadly. “If I hadn’t questioned that blood type report on Jon, you still wouldn’t have told me the truth. And you know it.” 

He felt as if he stood on the edge of precipice. He seemed to feel that way almost all the time lately. He knew the next words he spoke would damn him in her eyes. He had no excuse. But he wouldn’t lie. He wouldn’t ever lie to her again. “I wouldn’t have. You’re right about that. I sincerely hope that I would have at some point. That I would have realized some of the things I have now and known I couldn’t keep lying to you because you never deserved that lie in the first place. But I cannot know that I would have. I may have lived with you and loved you with all my heart and kept this from you forever.” 

“Because you don’t trust me?” she asked, and the words pierced his heart. 

“No,” he said definitely. “Because I’m a damn coward. I should have told you the truth straight away. That was the right thing to do, and would have been a far better thing to do. Had I told you, you would have been my partner in protecting Jon. I know that, Cat. And I knew it then, dammit. I just . . . I let Lyanna get into my head, and . . . there’s no excuse. I should have told you then. But having told the lie, and by some miracle having kept your love in spite of it, I was terrified to risk your love again on the truth. I’m a coward, Catelyn. I’m a weak, selfish man who couldn’t even contemplate having to live without you. So my weakness kept me silent, and would likely have kept me silent much longer had my hand not been forced. And if my admission of such weakness and cowardice now costs me any hope of keeping your love, I’ll have to suffer that loss and know it’s my own fault. Because I will not lie to you again. I love you, Cat. I love you as much as I ever have. More even. But from this moment forward you’ll get only truth from me. Even if hurts me or even if it hurts you. Even if it causes you to hate me. Because you deserve all my truths. You are the only person in the world I would trust with all of my truths.” 

“I could never hate you.” Neither of them spoke again for a very long time. He looked upward through the glass at the stars in the winter sky as she sipped her hot chocolate. Finally, she said, “Ned? If you’re a coward, then so am I. Because at least once a day, I wish that I never found those damn letters and that I still believed that Jon was your son. And the two of us were the way we were before I knew differently.” She pulled the shawl more tightly around her and sighed deeply. “But we can’t go back. Whether we’re brave or terrified or anything else, we can’t go back. We can only go forward from here.” 

“I know that, Catelyn. And I know I don’t have the right to ask anything from you, but I still hope that we can find a way to go forward together. To find a way back toward each other instead of away from each other. Because the one truth I hold onto tighter than any other is that I love and trust you more than anyone in the world. That’s been true since the first moment I fell in love with you and is still true today. And if you can’t trust that, I understand. But I hope you won’t shut me out completely. I hope, Cat. Because hope is all I have.” 

He watched her absorb his words and think about them. “There is still an awful lot between us, Ned. So many things we have to work through. So many hurts we have to heal.” 

“I’m a patient man.” 

“I’ll stay through Christmas,” she finally said. “I’ll think about what you’ve told me. I can’t promise any more than that.” 

“I won’t ask for any more.” 

“Thank you. For the hot chocolate and my shawl. You always want me to be warm.” 

“I always will.” He bent down and softly kissed the top of her head as chastely as he might kiss on of the children. “Good night, Cat.” 

“Good night, Ned.” she replied. “I’ll see you in the morning.” 

As he walked out of the sun porch and back into the main corridor of the first floor of the house, Ned thought her _I’ll see you in the morning_ somehow sounded more hopeful than her _I love you, too,_ when they had parted earlier. 


	4. December 24th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone is wondering, I've set this modern tale in a modified Westeros. Place names and countries are all from GRRM's books, and the war that Brandon, Robert, and Ned all fought in in Essos doesn't really correspond specifically to any real modern wars, but there are definitely some specifically American cultural references in the story because that happens to be the modern world I live in. So, it's definitely modern, but it's kind of a mash-up between canon world and real world--just because that's what I decided to do. 
> 
> Oh, and I've definitely messed a wee bit with the geography of Westeros. In this story, King's Landing is more centrally located with Wintefell (as it should be) to the north, and Riverrun (because it just works better in this story) to the south. :-)

Catelyn awoke before dawn on Christmas Eve, not that she had slept much at all. Rickon’s bed was considerably smaller than Sansa’s, but that hadn’t been what kept her from sleeping. She’d been sleeping with Rickon most nights since August and had grown used to the way he always slept right up against her regardless of how much space was available. The size of the bed mattered not at all. Everything that had happened between her and Ned yesterday had kept her awake long after Rickon’s chattering had ceased. She wasn’t certain how she was supposed to feel. 

She couldn’t think about what they’d done in the library at all. Not because she was ashamed. She’d told Ned the truth when she’d said she wasn’t. She couldn’t think about it because every time she recalled it, her body got warm and she wanted his arms around her again. Even when he’d kissed the top of her head last night—when she should have told him not to kiss her in any way at all--she’d felt it all the way to her toes and wanted him to kiss her lips. None of that was helpful in the least when she tried to think rationally about the things he’d said to her. And she’d promised she would think about those things.

As she’d lain awake considering his words, however, she couldn’t help wishing he’d said those things earlier. When he’d first confessed the truth of Jon’s parentage. Or at least before he left the house and filed divorce papers! It could have changed things then. She knew it could have. She’d forgiven him an affair and a bastard child once. Surely, she could have forgiven him the lie in time as well. But he hadn’t seemed to want her forgiveness—only her understanding of why he had no choice but to lie to her. And she hadn’t understood that. She still didn’t. What had he said last night? _I let Lyanna get in my head._ What the hell did that even mean? She understood well enough that Lyanna had truly feared for Jon’s safety. She even understood the need for secrecy if these Targaryens were remotely as terrible and powerful as Lyanna had convinced Ned that they were. But she would never understand Ned’s believing that keeping it a secret from her was justified at all. 

And last night, he’d told her it hadn’t been justified. He’d said clearly that he was wrong, that he was sorry, and that he knew it was unforgivable. And it made her want to cry. Because had he asked for her forgiveness initially as he had done all those years ago, she would have found a way to forgive him. Instead she’d fought with him and argued every point he’d tried to make. She’d lashed out him in her anger and grief, seeking to wound him as deeply as she was wounded. And she’d succeeded. She knew that with certainty after yesterday. He was hurting as badly as she was. And she wanted to scream in frustration as she found herself feeling almost pleased by that fact and at the same time wanting desperately to take that pain away from him. She wasn’t proud of either of those emotions and knew that neither was rational. Feeling both ways at once was probably truly insane. But then again, so was wanting to murder and make love to a man at the same time.

 _He started this,_ she thought. _His lie put us on this road. I never chose to walk it._ Yet, once she learned the truth, she couldn’t deny that she had very quickly stopped listening to him when she realized he wasn’t saying what she wanted to hear. She’d accused him repeatedly of not listening to her, and he hadn’t listened. But she’d stopped listening as well, and had hurled as many ugly words at Ned as he’d spoken to her since that terrible day in May. And none of those words could be unspoken. Lying there in Rickon’s bed in the darkness before dawn, she found herself angry at him all over again because if he had only apologized and asked for forgiveness before they’d inflicted so many wounds on each other, it would have made a difference. And now she wasn’t certain that it could.

 _We’re already divorced._ She wondered if repeating that sentence in her head often enough would ever make it feel less painful. She doubted it. She loved Ned. He loved her. That was another thing that she knew with certainty after yesterday. She’d been telling the children that since this mess began, first to reassure them that she and Ned would work this out and later to help them believe that their family hadn’t been a lie, that the love they’d believed in had been real. _Your father and I have loved each other very much,_ she’d told them repeatedly in what she hoped was a calm, reassuring, parental voice. _And in some ways, we always will. Sometimes that simply isn’t enough to keep a marriage together._

She’d known she loved Ned, and she’d thought he at least still had some feelings for her when she’d spoken those words to her children. Now her words felt like lies, though. Not because they didn’t love each other, but because they did. Not in _some ways,_ but in every way. As deeply as they ever had. And how in the hell did two people who loved each other like that do this to each other? Oh, how she wanted someone to blame. She’d tried blaming Lyanna Stark. She’d even hated her in her lowest moments, and those moments had given rise to some of the worst things she’d said to Ned. Things she knew had helped drive him away from her. He loved his sister dearly, and even worse, Lyanna and Jon were inextricably linked to him. They weren’t linked at all in her mind. She’d only known they had any connection at all for less than a year, and she’d long since worked through her resentment of Jon for the sins of Ned and his non-existent lover. But when she’d vilified Lyanna to Ned during their arguments--questioning her motives, accusing her of recklessly putting all of them in danger and of forcing Ned to put her wishes and needs above his own wife and children—Ned had heard her vilifying Jon. He’d reacted to her from his own fear and anger. And he’d left her.

 _He left me._ The moment he’d turned away from her was permanently etched in her memory. She’d been too angry to go after him, too hurt by what he said, but even then she’d known that Ned would go somewhere to sit and think or even take a walk or a drive to cool down, and that as the day wore on, one of them would eventually speak to the other. Even if they couldn’t revisit these terrible words to apologize yet, one of them would ask if the other was hungry or needed something from the store, or would ask something about the kids. And by bedtime, even though nothing was settled, hadn’t been truly settled all summer, they’d lie down beside each other in their bed, and reach out to each other, even if it was only a brush of their fingertips before attempting to drift off into troubled sleep. Neither of them had really been all right since the day she’d realized Jon couldn’t possibly be Ned’s son, but as long as they’d held on to that tenuous connection, she’d believed that they would be eventually. Somehow. And she hadn’t imagined that connection ever being severed.

Only it had been. Those were the other moments etched in her memory: The moment she realized he had not only left the house, but taken Jon. The long hours she’d sat up that night after sending the children to bed believing that he’d walk through the door at any moment. The moment at some point when he’d been gone for several days, and she realized he might not be coming back. The moment she’d learned he’d been staying with another woman. One she knew he’d once loved but hadn’t realized was still anything more to him than an old acquaintance they sometimes ran into around town. The moment the divorce papers arrived, and she had to face the impossible reality that he wasn’t simply angry and tired and needing some sort of space—he was finished. He had left her, and he wasn’t coming back.

Each of those moments had left scars on her heart. Scars she feared might not ever completely heal. She loved Ned. She loved him for everything he was, and everything they’d been to each other, and even for the things he’d said to her last night. But maybe the words she’d given to her children weren’t entirely lies after all. Maybe love wasn’t enough to keep two people together. If she couldn’t let go of the pain, couldn’t get past those scars, she’d end up resenting him in little ways, no matter how much she loved him. And she couldn’t do that to him. She’d done it before—to Jon. And she knew that was part of what had brought them to this place. She couldn’t do that again. She wouldn’t. If she and Ned couldn’t love each other without reservation and without harboring any old resentments, then they shouldn’t be together. They’d end up hurting each other and the children. And that’s what she would tell him today.

If the damn sun ever came up.

Realizing that she was not going to sleep anymore and feeling as if this sleepless night had gone on entirely long enough, Catelyn carefully extricated herself from Rickon’s little arms around her neck, and rose from the bed. No one would be up at this hour, and as she didn’t want to wake anyone by making noise, she simply pulled on her robe and slippers. She didn’t know for certain who’d put them in Rickon’s room, but she suspected Ned had either done it himself or instructed one of the children to it. He was the only one who’d know where they were in the master bedroom.

She tiptoed down the stairs in the dark. She didn’t need light to navigate Winterfell, of course. She knew it as well as she did her home in King’s Landing or the house she’d grown up in. The idea of never coming here again honestly terrified her. But the thought of coming here year after year in a marriage lacking trust and respect and true openness scared her even more. She wondered if she and Ned could get that back. Then she bitterly amended that to wondering if they could find it for the first time. Whatever else was true about why Ned chose to do what he did all those years ago, the simple fact is that he had put a lie between them for all those years, so she couldn’t honestly claim her marriage had trust or openness ever. Then she shook her head sadly. She didn’t want a marriage marred by bitterness either, and she wondered if she could truly put it away. She wanted to believe she could, but she couldn’t risk hurting their children or Ned or herself all over again if she wasn’t sure.

She walked into the kitchen and turned on the light. It seemed unnaturally bright after spending so many wakeful hours in the dark. The clock above the window said 4:45. No one else would be up for hours. Ned was generally a fairly early riser, but even he never got up before six or maybe seven when vacationing at Winterfell, and the children would all sleep past nine or even ten with the possible exception of Rickon. She didn’t like drinking coffee at this ridiculous hour, but did put the kettle on and made herself a cup of tea. Sitting alone in the quiet kitchen, she still felt at loose ends, however, and decided to see how much damage the kids had inflicted upon the game room last night. They’d all been there when she’d come in from the sun porch last night, and while she’d taken Rickon up to bed with her, she’d allowed the others to stay up. She hadn’t seen Ned after he’d left her in the sun porch and wasn’t certain where he’d been. She’d heard the kids come up later as she hadn’t been sleeping. Rickon had no clock in his room, and she hadn’t bothered to look at her phone, but she suspected it was after midnight. Chances of them having cleaned up after themselves were slim.

As she walked into the room, she flipped the switch for one of the lights and was met with a surprised “Huh?” as the room was illuminated. Startled, she looked around for the source of the exclamation and saw her husband, _ex-husband,_ rise up into a sitting position on the largest of the big cushioned sofas.

“Ned?” she said, puzzled as to why he would be in here.

“Cat! I . . . uh, what time is it?” He sounded disoriented and ran a hand through his rather disheveled hair. He was wearing the dark blue pajamas she’d gotten him two Christmases ago—the ‘dignified’ ones she’d purchased so that he didn’t have to wear the garish Christmas onesie the kids had got him for their entire stay. He was a good sport about it, but she knew he wouldn’t want to wear that thing more than one night if he had any excuse. 

“About five in the morning. What are you doing here?”

He sighed. “Sleeping. Or trying to.”

“Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to wake you. But why are you sleeping in the game room?”

He yawned. “You didn’t wake me. I said I was trying to sleep. Not succeeding. And I’m sleeping in the game room because this is the most comfortable sofa in the house. I didn’t think the kids would ever go to bed.”

“But why aren’t you in bed?” she asked him, sitting down on a chair. 

He looked at her a moment. “Because I can’t sleep in our bed without you, Cat. I can barely stand to be in the room.”

“But you . . .”

“Last night was the only night I’ve spent in that room without you since I married you. Well, since before I married you if we’re being technical about it. And as embarrassing as it is to admit this, I only made it through last night because of Rickon. I essentially used our son as a security blanket or teddy bear. And I still didn’t sleep much.”

“Oh,” she said softly, uncertain of what else to say in that moment.

“I slept in Robb’s room until you and the kids got here. When Jon and I arrived, I found myself barely able to walk through the damn door of our bedroom. I put my bag on the floor and walked back out immediately. Made myself go in there for clothes and to brush my teeth, but . . . I couldn’t stand it. Jon knew where I was sleeping, but he didn’t say anything to me.”

“He’s like you,” she said then. “Jon’s not going to ask questions if he thinks it’s none of his business. And he isn’t going to make anyone feel uncomfortable unless he has to.”

Ned had been looking down at his hands, but he looked up at her then, searching her face for something. She wondered if he was looking for any resentment of Jon’s being so like him. She had no doubt that he’d seen it in her face in the past, but he wouldn’t find it now. It hadn’t been there for a long time, and she wished he had realized that. Then again, she had never really spoken to him about her feelings for Jon. Early on, she’d been too ashamed of the negative emotions and later she imagined that he would find any attempts on her part to convince him that she honestly loved Jon disingenuous. So she’d remained silent on the subject and now held it against Ned that he’d never read her mind. That was unfair.

“How do you do it?” he asked her. “How do you sleep in King’s Landing in our . . . in your room?”

“Well, I’d done it fairly often before. You traveled a lot for work until a few years ago.” His face clouded, and she realized he probably thought she was criticizing him. She had faulted him for the long absences at times in the past. “I’m not trying to dredge up old arguments, Ned. Honestly. We worked through that one. And . . . we have plenty of new arguments to choose from if I’m in the mood to fight.” She smiled at him, and he cautiously returned her smile and made a sound between a laugh and a sigh. “Truly, I only brought that up because I’d gotten used to sleeping without you more or less, and while I always slept poorly on the first nights of your trips, I generally adapted by the second night well enough. After all, I needed my sleep in order to keep up with my own job and six crazy kids. And I knew you’d be back soon.” 

She paused and idly got up to pick up an empty chip bag on the floor near the pool table. “How is it we can put garbage cans in every room, and they still can’t manage to find them?” she mused, shaking her head and tossing the bag into the can before looking back toward Ned. He still sat on the sofa, waiting for her to continue, and this time she sat beside him there. 

“It was entirely different when you left me.” She saw him wince at her words, but he had left her. Not speaking the words would make that no less true. “I sat up in the living room most of the first night, convinced you would come home. Then I worried you and Jon had been in an accident. Then I realized I would have been called in that case and got angry at you for scaring me. I didn’t sleep at all that night or for several nights, really. The next day, Arya attacked me for hating Jon and driving you both away and ran out of the house. And, of course, I saw your car when you brought her back so I knew you were alive. Arya didn’t speak to me for the next few days, but Robb was texting Jon as well, and he told me that you and Jon were going to stay away for awhile and asked me what happened. I’m afraid didn’t have a satisfactory answer for him. At some point that first week, Rickon came into my room crying that he’d had a bad dream and asked if he could stay. He also asked when you were coming back, and I didn’t have an answer for him either. He asked if I was going away, too, and I told him never, ever, and I held him and he fell asleep. And knowing that I could at least make one of my children feel safer by holding onto him actually helped me. So I didn’t say a word when he showed up in my bed the next night and the night after that. Gradually I learned to sleep again at least a little bit, thanks to our son. I know it’s my job to take care of him, not the other way around. And I know that developmentally, he needs to be sleeping in his own room. I’m not helping him by making him think his home and his world are only safe now if he’s in my bed, holding onto me as if I might disappear if he lets go. I know these things, Ned. And yet, I’ve not even tried to get him back into his own room. And when the kids are with you overnight . . . well, suffice it to say I don’t sleep very much on those nights for a number of reasons. That’s how I do it. And I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hurt that it never occurred to you to wonder about that until you came here.”

His face had been like stone as she spoke, but she knew it wasn’t from lack of emotion. She recognized well enough when Ned was exerting great effort to keep his emotions in check. After she finished speaking, he closed his eyes for a long moment, and when he opened them again, he said, “I didn’t want to wonder. I didn’t allow myself to wonder. I didn’t want to imagine you as miserable and sleepless as I was—because if you think I slept at all during those first weeks, you are wrong.”

Catelyn bit her lip hard to keep from reminding him that at the time, she’d thought he was sleeping with Ashara Dayne. But if she chose to believe him about that, she had to believe him entirely, and not keep throwing it at him like a weapon.

“But I didn’t want to imagine you sleeping like a baby, untroubled by my absence, either,” he continued. “Any thought of you there without me was torture regardless of how you were sleeping, so I just refused to think about it. Until I arrived here and walked into that damn bedroom. Since then, I’ve hardly been able to stop thinking about it, and I’ve been angry at myself for making you feel the way I felt without you in there and angry at you for maybe not feeling that way at all.” He shook his head. “I swear sometimes it’s like going insane, Cat. Wanting to protect you and wanting you to hurt all at the same time.” He shook his head. “I’m not proud of that, by the way—wishing for you to feel the pain that I do. But I told you last night that I would give you nothing but truth from here on, even if it hurts. And that’s the truth. If you can possibly understand it.”

“I understand it very well.” 

They sat silently then for a moment, simply looking into each other’s eyes, neither of them seeming to know what to say next. Finally, Ned broke the silence. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry for leaving.”

He’d never said that before. He’d told her he never wanted to leave. As if he’d been somehow forced out the door that day. But he’d never simply said, ‘I’m sorry for leaving,’ and it made her catch her breath. 

“I mean it, Cat. I know that sorry doesn’t magically make it all better, but I am sorry.”

“Oh, Ned.” The words came out within a laugh and a choked sob as he quoted her frequent admonition to the children over the years about the limitations of apologies. “I wish it did. I wish it more than I ever have in my life.”

He reached out and took her hands in his, and she didn’t pull them away. “Do you believe I love you?”

Uncertain of her ability to keep the tears out of her voice in that moment, she simply nodded.

“Then believe me when I say that I will do whatever it takes to make things right again.” He took a deep breath. “Sansa told me last night that I used to be her hero.”

“You still are,” Catelyn managed to whisper. “To all of them. They’re hurt and they’re angry, but you’ll always be their hero, Ned. You’re their father.”

“She asked me . . . if I wanted to be yours.” Catelyn could hear the strain in his voice. “And damn it, Cat, I did. From the moment I saw you, I think. I’d have moved heaven and earth to just to impress you. I still would. I remember thinking you deserved a hero—someone straight out of those romance novels Sansa’s so fond of, and yet you chose me. I never quite understood that, you know.” He laughed a little. “I was glad as hell about it, but I used to wonder when you’d realize that I was no hero. That was my brother Brandon. Or Robert. I was just . . . me.”

“I barely knew your brother. We only went out a few times before he enlisted, and he broke it off before he left. I know he died a war hero, but I’m too selfish to have ever wanted that for you. I just wanted you to come home alive and well. As for Robert,” she laughed. “I know him a bit too well to consider him any kind of hero. As awful as Cersei can be, I don’t know that I’d be much better if I’d suffered through marriage to him.”

“You named our son for him.”

“Because he saved your life! I told you that all I wanted was for you to come home, and if it hadn’t been for Robert risking his own life to get you off that battlefield after your injury, you wouldn’t have. He may be a philandering drunk with a bad temper whose company I can only tolerate in small doses, but I’ll love Robert Baratheon forever for giving you back to me and Robb. And since you’d already vetoed my suggestion that we give him your name, I thought it only fitting that I name him for the man who made it possible for him to even know his father.”

“Well,” Ned said softly. “Robb certainly knows I’m not a hero.”

“I never needed you to be my hero, Ned!” Catelyn exclaimed in exasperation. When he looked at her questioningly, she said in a much softer voice, “I needed you to be my husband. That’s all I ever wanted.”

He swallowed. “Do you still want that?”

She became acutely aware that they were still holding hands, holding onto each other as if to prevent their words from tearing them apart.

She grasped his hands tightly and thought very carefully about her words before replying. “Yes, I want that. But not if we’re going to keep tearing each other apart. Our children aren’t stupid, you know. They have a lot of questions about why we started fighting and why the divorce. And I’ve been trying to answer their questions as best I can. I kept telling them that sometimes love isn’t enough to keep a marriage together. Now, I admit that I was saying that at least in part because I just didn’t want them to believe we’d suddenly quit loving each other. But . . . I think I spoke more truthfully than I even knew. We do love each other, Ned. And yet we ripped this family apart.”

“I promise I will never . . .”

“I said _we,_ ” she interrupted quickly. “You lied to me. You left me. Those are two enormous things that I admit I’m still struggling with. But you didn’t put us here all by yourself, Ned.”

“Cat, my actions are not your fault.”

“No, but mine are. And we’ve both said and done some pretty terrible things—I don’t mean just since May. The trouble goes back further than that.”

“I thought we were happy.” 

“We were. Please don’t believe I haven’t been happy because . . . you and the children—you are my happiness. But, in spite of that, the seeds of this were planted long ago, and neither of us acknowledged that. Your secret. My lingering . . . insecurity I suppose . . . and resentment over the woman you’d loved.”

“That was all my fault. If I hadn’t lied to you in the first place . . .”

“That doesn’t matter. Whether you lied or not, I lied, too. I told you I was fine when I wasn’t. I pretended that Jon’s being here didn’t bother me when we both knew it did.” She looked down. “And I let that color my relationship with a child for years. Whatever your sins, Ned, I must acknowledge my own. I had a choice when you brought Jon home. When I chose to forgive you and to accept Jon into our family, I didn’t really accept him. I just didn’t want to lose you.” She shook her head slowly. “That isn’t easy to admit. But I should have. Maybe if we’d talked about it . . .”

“Cat . . . I don’t blame you for . . .”

“But you do! Don’t you see? When Jon started acting out and telling you I did everything but beat him, you believed there was some truth in his words. Even when he was just being an angry child. You believed him because you’d watched me favor Robb and then the girls and Bran, and you blamed me for it. Hell, Ned, I blamed me for it! But I couldn’t . . . no, that’s a cop out. I _wouldn’t_ allow myself to love him for years because that meant forgiving _her_ —the woman you loved and lost. And don’t tell me how stupid that sounds. Because I know it already. You say you knew that lying to me about Jon’s parentage was wrong when you did it. Well, I knew I was wrong, too, and still did what I did.”

“But you love Jon,” Ned said hesitantly. “You told me that. And last night when you sang that song while he played, I watched the two of you and I saw it, Cat. I did.”

Catelyn didn’t even try to fight the tears that filled her eyes then. “But you never saw it before, did you?” she whispered. “Because I never told you, and you had no reason to look.” Then she smiled through her tears. “He called me Cat. I think, maybe, he’s truly beginning to believe that I do care. But it’s my fault if he never does. And while you are the one who left, Ned, and that’s yours to answer for . . . I have to admit that your fear that I might take my anger out on Jon is something I helped create.”

“Catelyn . . . you would never hurt Jon. I know that,” he said. “It’s just that . . . you were so insistent that he be told the truth, and that cannot happen. And I let it scare me and make me angry, and I . . . wasn’t really rational at all. I was so focused on protecting Jon, I didn’t stop to think about who you are. I know you, Cat. I had no good reason to drag him out of the house and even less to stay away. I . . . I’m sorry.”

“And I’m sorry, too. You have to let me be sorry, Ned. You hurt me a great deal, and I’m still angry about that. But I hurt you, too. And you have to acknowledge that. This . . . whatever it is we’re trying to accomplish . . . it can’t just be you taking the blame for everything. I don’t need a martyr any more than I need a hero. You promised me the truth even if it hurts. And that means the truth about my faults as well as yours.”

He gave her just a hint of the particular crooked smile that had always made her heart skip. “You know how I want to reply to that, don’t you?” 

She smiled at him. “Don’t you dare tell me I don’t have any faults. We both know that isn’t true.”

“It’s still the first thing that came into my head.” His expression grew serious. “I know you have faults, Catelyn. You’re human, after all. But I never choose to look at them. Because to me, you are perfect. And I suppose that’s unfair to you in a way. I consider myself deeply flawed and yet I accept that you love me anyway. I’ve taken for granted that you’ll love me regardless of my many flaws and mistakes. If I never acknowledge your own flaws and mistakes, do you worry that my love for you might be changed if I suddenly see them?”

He’d spoken slowly. This had already been a rather long conversation for him as he was not a man given to lengthy speeches. He’d always spoken more easily with her than with anyone, and she still sometimes felt she said ten words for every one of his whenever they conversed. But she knew his silences were never indicative of a lack of thought or feeling, and sometimes, as he did just now, he found the words to express something better than she ever could have herself.

“I don’t think I’ve ever thought of it quite that way,” she said. “But . . . I think there’s some truth in that.”

“Well, never fear, my love. I am aware of all your imperfections, and I love you even more—not in spite of, but because of them.”

He leaned in to kiss her, and she allowed herself to enjoy the feel of his lips on hers for only a moment before she pulled away, pulling her hands from his as well.

“No kissing.”

“What?” His face looked alarmingly like Rickon’s did when he was told “no” to something he wanted.

“Ned . . . this is the longest conversation we’ve had without shouting at each other in months. We still have a lot to work through. I have questions, and I’m sure you do, too.”

“Ask me your questions, Catelyn. I’ll answer anything you ask.”

“What time is it, Ned?” 

He shrugged. “That should be an easy question, but I didn’t bring my watch or my phone down here. You said it was about five when you came in here. Is there a clock in this room?”

“Probably. Somewhere on all the electronics.” This was the children’s domain. She’d allow herself to be pulled in for board games or even pool, but as the Xbox had gradually taken over more and more of the children’s time, she’d spent less time in here. “I certainly haven’t been here an hour though, so I’m sure it’s not yet six. Would you like some coffee?”

“Absolutely,” he said, standing up from the sofa and offering her a hand. “Are all your questions going to be this easy?”

She rolled her eyes at him as he pulled her up. God, she’d missed this—the ease of simply talking with him about any trivial thing, the teasing side of him that so few people outside the family believed existed. A part of her wanted to simply walk into the kitchen with him, make coffee and talk about the presents to be set out for the children tonight or whether someone should brave the newly plowed roads to search for a last minute turkey at the grocery or just go with what they had in the house. Yet, she reminded herself that they were no longer married, and while this particular moment felt more normal than anything had in a long time, there was nothing normal about their current situation. If they had any chance to change that, they needed to talk about more difficult things and to listen to each other more than they had in a long time. 

“No,” she said simply. “But I think we should take advantage of our time while the kids are asleep. Come on in the kitchen and I’ll start the coffee, but if you want to think about your answer, my first question is ‘Why?’ Why did you lie to me in the first place, Ned, all those years ago? I know you’ve said the reasons are complicated and that they aren’t excuses, and I’m not interested in excuses, to be honest. But I would like to know what you were thinking. Because for the life of me, I can’t think of any reason for you to have promised to lie to _me_ at all.”

The open, easy expression on his face disappeared just as she’d known it would, and she wondered if he’d been tempted to pretend that all was well just for the morning, too. But he pressed his lips together and gave a brief nod. “To the kitchen, then, and I’ll give you what answers I have.”

He dropped her hand, and they walked into the kitchen together but no longer touching, and she found herself missing his hands on hers.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

They didn't speak much as Catelyn put the coffee on for him and dumped out a half-drunk cup of tea to replace it with a fresh cup for herself. He sat at the kitchen table and watched her move about, thinking how much he’d missed spending mornings like this. He was naturally an early riser where she preferred to sleep a bit later if possible, but six children had largely removed that luxury from her life, and over the years she’d gotten into the habit of getting up with him just so they could have few moments alone in quiet, half-asleep companionship before the children began getting out of bed. She’d stopped doing that, he realized, long before he’d left the house in August. During those long terrible, strained summer weeks, he’d rise from bed and she’d remain still—sleeping or pretending to sleep—as he dressed to go downstairs, coming down herself only once the children were up. He wondered now if she’d been as reluctant to let go of those silent night time hours sleeping side by side as he had. It seemed their bed was the only place the two of them spent time alone together without an argument or angry silence or hurtful words in those days. They’d both used the children’s presence as protection from that more often than they should have.

“Here,” she said, handing him a cup of coffee and taking the seat beside him. He hadn’t told her how to make it. She knew how he liked his coffee better than he did.

“Thanks,” he said, raising the cup to his lips for a sip.

“You were a million miles away just now,” she remarked.

He shook his head. “No. Just a couple hundred.” When she raised an eyebrow in question, he half smiled. “In our kitchen in King’s Landing. I’ve missed coffee with you in the mornings.”

“I suppose it has been a long time, hasn’t it?”

He shouldn’t be hurt by the fact that she didn’t say she’d missed it, too. She’d made it clear enough that she hadn’t stopped loving him. Her speaking about sitting awake the night that he’d taken Jon and left had almost killed him to hear. And yet, he sat there waiting for her to say she’d missed him, too. You are a selfish bastard, Ned.

“Are you ready to answer my question?” she asked after the silence stretched on a bit too long, her clear blue eyes never leaving his face.

“Why did I lie to you,” he said flatly. “Because I promised Lyanna I would. And I made that promise because I felt I had to. Those are the simplest answers, and I know they aren’t enough. _Why_ I felt I had to make and _keep_ that promise is a bit more complicated.”

“Yes, you said last night it was hard to explain. Go on.” She didn’t sound angry, but clearly she wanted more of an answer.”

“Lyanna was . . . is . . . simultaneously the bravest, most independent and yet neediest and in some ways most fragile person I have ever known.”

“You’ve never called her needy before.”

“No. And she’d hate it if she knew I did now.” He shook his head and closed his eyes, trying to find the words to explain his sister, and more importantly his own relationship with his sister. “She never liked being told what to do. Drove my father crazy. He never knew what to do with her. I think she picked all of her high school boyfriends primarily based on how badly they’d piss him off. Yet, she wanted . . . needed . . . him to approve of her, especially after Mom died. She needed him to . . . value her.”

“All children need that, Ned. But I think I understand what Lyanna felt. My mother died when I was much too young, too,” Catelyn said softly.

Ned nodded. “Promises . . . Lya wasn’t a fan of them, you know. She said there was no point in them because everybody broke them. My dad was a hell of a good businessman. A trusted man, too. People believed him when he told them something because his word was his bond. And he beat that into all of our heads. He lived by it, too. At least in business. And his work became his life after Mom’s death. If he said he could have a deal done for this amount on this date, you could bank on it. He’d get it done. If he said he’d be at your ballgame or help you with your algebra or just make it home in time to say goodnight . . . well, that probably wouldn’t happen.”

“Ned . . .” She actually reached out and grasped his hand.

He’d never told her any of this before, and he knew what she was thinking about. “Yeah,” he said quickly. “I told you he was a great man, and he was. I told you I tried to be like him, and I did. I still do . . . in a lot of ways. Back when the kids were younger and I was working so much, and you finally told me I had to stop—that I was missing their lives—I realized maybe I was too much like him. He was a very good man, my father. And he loved us. But he wasn’t a warm man, and sometimes . . . that love wasn’t easy to feel. Brandon and I . . . we always believed he’d come through for us on the really important stuff, you know. But Lyanna . . . she wasn’t so sure. I never wanted any of my children to feel that way.” His voice caught as he thought about how badly he’d let his children down now.

“You are a warm man, Ned. Whatever we’ve done wrong, however hurt the children are now—every one of them knows how much you love them. Please don’t doubt that.” 

The firm conviction in her voice both warmed his heart and shamed him. She’d asked him for answers to provide her some sort of reassurance and instead he was greedily accepting reassurance from her. He nodded briefly, squeezed her hand before releasing it, and forced himself back to the issue at hand. “Lyanna’s decision to join the Agency wasn’t all about my father. She’d always been good at ferreting out secrets, much to Brandon’s dismay. Good at puzzles and looking for connections. Good at reading people and even manipulating them, I suppose. God knows she usually managed to get Brandon and me to do whatever she wanted. And she had no real attachments to anyone except us. Once Dad died and Brandon joined the army, she just jumped at the opportunity. I hope it made her happy. I don’t really know much about it because I only saw her a few times after she started there—the last was at our wedding until . . .”

“Until she lured you off to the coast with some cloak and dagger message, and you told me your first lie.” The hint of anger was back in her voice a bit then.

He nodded. “I was afraid to tell you I thought Lyanna was alive. That message was so . . . I couldn’t really believe it myself, and I didn’t want to worry you, so I . . . I lied. Looking back, if I hadn’t lied to you then, Lyanna wouldn’t have had the chance to ask for my promise because there’s no way in hell you’d have let me go up there alone.”

“No, there isn’t.”

“I didn’t want you to worry about me. Hell, I was worried about me. I thought I was losing my mind and . . . I was trying not to scare you. I’m not saying I was right. But that’s all it was when I didn’t tell you where I was going, or why.”

She nodded. She didn’t offer him absolution but she didn’t question him any further. Now she just waited for him to continue.

“Well, you know everything she told me when I found her. I’ve gone through it a million times. But if you want me to do it again, I will.”

“No. You don’t have to do that. Just tell me why you promised her you’d lie to me. You’ve told me over and over how you told her you trusted me with your life and that I would never tell and that I could help you. But you promised her anyway, and I want to know why.” Her voice had risen slightly over the course of those words, but she didn’t shout, and Ned knew the effort she was putting into maintaining her composure. 

“She was terrified, Cat. The danger was very real. She knew these people, and . . .”

“I know all that!” She very nearly did shout then, but then took a deep breath and spoke more calmly. “I’ve heard this all before. She was afraid for Jon. She didn’t know me. But you knew me, Ned. You knew that however real the danger, it didn’t come from me.”

“She was begging me, Cat. She talked about how hard it would be for you—to have your own family believe I’d cheated on you. How you’d want to defend yourself—defend me to them, and how . . .”

“Of course, I’d want to defend you! I did defend you, dammit! To my father, to my uncle, to all those damn busybodies in the military wives support group I’d joined when you were fighting overseas who were suddenly so pitying of me and filled with righteous indignation over what you did to me! I couldn’t stand it! All of them telling me I didn’t have to martyr myself for a lying, cheating dog who expected me to take in his trash!”

She was shaking. She’d never told him any of this before. He’d known Hoster Tully had told her to leave him and come home, but she’d made it clear she had no intention of leaving her marriage and the old man seemed to have forgiven Ned eventually. She’d never told him specifics of their conversations, and he’d known nothing about anyone else saying such things to Catelyn. “You mean that group of ladies you used to go out and have dinner . . .”

“I quit doing that three months after you brought Jon home! Didn’t you even notice? No more monthly meetings or fundraisers. I got tired of telling them my husband was a good man who made a mistake and that we were fine. I got tired of being considered a deluded idiot or a saint when I knew I was neither, and I got damn tired of people thinking it was somehow okay for them to vilify the man I love to my face!” She shook her head violently. “But none of that—NONE of that, Ned!—means that I would have told your secrets to anyone, including my father. Would I have been tempted? Probably. Would I have asked you if we could at least tell my father? Almost certainly. But I never would have told a living soul your secret without your express permission.”

“Cat . . . I didn’t . . .”

“No, I need you to hear this. Subjecting myself daily to the judgment of everyone from people I barely knew to my own father--judgment of you for your adultery and your audacity in asking me raise to your bastard, judgment of me for letting you ‘get away with it’—was the most painful and exhausting experience I’d ever been through, and it went on for years. Yet, I survived it. I loved you through it, and I DID defend you—I defended you for the man I know you are even believing you had slept with some girl in Essos, even believing that you’d loved her in some way. Can you not see that I could have survived that far more easily knowing that I was working with you to protect Jon and Lyanna? Can you not understand how much stronger I would have felt when I told my father that my husband is the finest man I know even if he did make a mistake had I known just how much you were giving of yourself to keep them safe? And that I was helping you to do that? This should have been OUR secret, Ned. I would have shared it all with you.”

She was crying although Ned could see how hard she was trying not to, and he wanted desperately to hold her. But she wouldn’t want that. Not now. “I never knew how much my lie cost you, Cat,” he said softly. “But that doesn’t matter. I was wrong. Even if no one had ever said a word to you about me or Jon, it was still wrong to lie to you, and I’m sorry. And you’re right. It should have been our secret. Together. From the beginning.” He wanted to say that he wished she’d told him any of the things that had been said to her years ago—all of the things that had been said to her. He wanted to go back in time and throttle anyone who’d made her feel wrong, but he knew the only person to blame in the end was himself. He wanted to go back in time and tell her the truth and share the responsibility for Jon’s secret with her, but he couldn’t. He’d lost that opportunity nearly seventeen years ago.

“I can’t change the past, Cat,” he said, tentatively reaching out to take her hands and offering a silent prayer of gratitude when she didn’t pull away. “But I’m glad you told me how you felt then. I deserve to know what you went through because I put you there, and I should have shared that pain then. I can’t go back, but I swear to you I’ll never hurt you like that again going forward.”

“I couldn’t tell you.” Her whisper was barely audible. “I was too afraid.”

“Afraid?”

She’d been looking at their joined hands, but she looked up at him then. “I was afraid I’d get too angry—that I’d say too much. That you might see how much . . . how much . . . I resented Jon being there and causing all of this . . . I mean I know he didn’t cause it—you did, but . . . I was afraid you’d see just how terrible I was and . . .”

“You are not terrible. You were never terrible. Only terribly hurt.”

They sat there in silence for a moment, gripping each other’s hands much too tightly, but neither could let go.

“We both know why I should never have made that promise, Cat,” he finally said, steeling himself to keep speaking, “But I haven’t truly told you why I did.”

She looked at him carefully, and then nodded, finally relaxing her grip on his hands, but not letting him go.

“I told you Lya hated promises. But I didn’t tell you that she called me the only person in the world who kept them. She swears I’ve never broken a promise to her all her life. That can’t be true. I’m certain I’ve forgotten to do something I promised her somewhere along the way, but whatever it was, it seemed she forgot about it as well. Dad was . . . well, Dad. Brandon was her hero in many ways, but we were all used to his casual white lies and insincere promises. Ben was always just a little kid to her. And I was . . . the one she could count on. That’s what she told me all the time. ‘If I really need something, I come to you, Ned, because you always do what needs to be done.’ And she believed this needed to be done, Cat. She was wrong . . . when it came to keeping the truth from you, she was dead wrong, but she believed it. She told me that she had no choice but to leave Jon with me, but that if she didn’t have my promise, she’d live her life believing that she’d done all of it in vain because she couldn’t be certain her son was safe. She was leaving with nothing, Cat. She knew she’d never see either of us again. She fully intended to go back to Essos and intentionally leave a trail that could be followed, all in the name of leading the Targaryens far away from Jon. I don’t even know if she’s alive. I don’t even know if she wanted to stay alive. But she wanted that promise. And I gave it to her. God forgive me, I gave it to her.”

“And you meant to keep it.” There was no anger or accusation in her voice, simply certainty.

“And I meant to keep it. She believed in me. I’m the only person in the world she’d have asked for that promise because mine’s the only promise that would have meant anything to her. And I wanted that to remain true.”

“I believed in you, too.” 

Those words cut him to the quick. “I know. And I wronged you to keep a promise to my sister, whom I will likely never see again and who will never know who I told or didn’t tell.” He spoke the words bluntly, and she nodded. 

She seemed satisfied, and he could have stopped there. He wanted to stop there, but he’d promised her honesty. “I very nearly broke that promise the first night I had Jon at home, though. When I saw how hurt you were . . . my God, Cat . . . I thought I was going to die myself, just looking at you. And when I told you that you were everything to me, and you told me you felt like nothing . . . I knew I’d do anything to make you all right. To make us all right. And then you went into the bedroom, and I knew I had to tell you. I actually asked God and Lyanna both to forgive me, and I went to tell you. I knocked on the door, and . . .”

“I wouldn’t let you in,” she said softly.

“No! I mean, yes, you told me to go away. But I was prepared to knock that door down and tell you the truth rather than lose you. I swear I was. But then . . . you told me you loved me. Do you remember?”

“I told you I loved you but I couldn’t look at you or listen to you anymore. I remember that night better than I’d like.”

He nodded. “That’s what you said. But what I heard is that you loved me. In spite of how badly I hurt you, you still loved me. And I could breathe again. And I didn’t feel compelled to break my promise to Lya anymore. Because you were strong enough to love me even believing my lie.”

She looked at him for a long moment. “Are you trying to tell me, Eddard Stark, that you believe I am responsible for your not telling me the truth? That my words somehow gave you permission to lie to me?” Her voice was quiet and controlled, but he could hear the simmering fury beneath it.

“God, no! I don’t mean that at all! I . . . God, I wish I could explain it better! I’m saying that I’m a selfish bastard, Cat! That I had no right to lie to you in the first place however I felt about my promise to my sister, but faced with the prospect of losing you, I was ready to toss that promise away because nothing was more important to me than holding onto you. And then when you said you loved me, I began to think that I could keep the promise and keep you, and I grabbed at that chance. I . . . swore to myself that I would love you better than any man has ever loved a woman, and that would make it all right. That I would convince you that you _are_ everything every day for the rest of my life, and that would take away the hurt. But what I really did, Cat, was decide that being honest with you, trusting you and treating you as you deserved was not as important as keeping you with me. Because I was prepared to break my promise to Lyanna for the second, but not for the first. I didn’t think of it that way at the time. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking at the time, to be honest. But when I look at it now, that’s the only way I can see it. And I don’t like myself very much.”

“You realized you could be Jon’s father and Lyanna’s valiant hero, and still keep me as your wife,” Catelyn said dully.

“I didn’t . . . I never . . . yes,” he finally said, forcing himself to meet her eyes. “I swear to God I didn’t consciously think it through that way. But, yes. That’s essentially what I did.”

“If I’d run home to Riverrun with Robb, you’d have chased me down and told me the truth?” she demanded, a hint of almost hysterical laughter in her voice.

“Probably,” he admitted. “I just . . . I just wanted all of us happy and together and safe, and I convinced myself that’s what we were. Until it blew up in my face this past May.”

“It blew up in all our faces, Ned. And I want so much to pick up all the pieces and put them back together, but I just can’t . . .”

“Forgive me?” he asked, feeling a heavy stone settle in the pit of his stomach. “I understand, Cat. I haven’t been the husband you deserve, and if you don’t want me in your life, then I’ll have to find a way to accept that. But I want you to know that . . .”

“That isn’t what I was going to say,” she interrupted him quickly. “Ned . . . my reservations about the two of us . . . God, ‘getting back together’ sounds like two high school kids, but I don’t know what else to call it! Anyway, my reservations have nothing to do with forgiveness. We’ve both managed to forgive each other an awful lot over the years. I was going to say that I want to put the pieces back together but I can’t quite see the finished picture yet. I’m glad you told me all the truth as you see it from the beginning. It hurts. It hurts a lot. I’m not going to deny that. But, the decisions you made then---well, those were made by a man who doesn’t exist anymore. We’re both almost seventeen years older. We’ve had four children and moved and changed jobs and fought about important things and stupid things and loved each other and made each other laugh and cry. I’m looking at the man you are now, and you’re looking at the woman I am now—not the one who locked you out of our bedroom the night you brought Jon home. As you said, we can’t go back and change what happened to them or what they did. We can only deal with who we are now. I needed the truth. All of it. Even the hurtful parts. And I needed to hear you say you were wrong. I needed to know you truly believe that. And you’ve given me all those things. I needed you to hear that I was wrong to hold onto resentments and pretend I was fine. That I hurt Jon and you and even the other children by doing so, and I know that. Now . . . I don’t know. I guess I just need to process it all or something.”

“You don’t hate me, then?” he asked her with a slight smile.

“I could never hate you. I’ve been angry enough to think I do for a fleeting moment. I’ve even tried to hate you one or two times. Failed miserably.”

“I do love you, Catelyn.”

She smiled back at him. “I know.”

“Oh, really? And what makes you so certain of my love, Han Solo?”

She laughed at him. “Because there are only two reasons for you to have been as brutally honest as you’ve been since yesterday. Either you just really love pain and conflict or you love me enough to dredge up awful things I know you’ve tried to bury away for years. And I know damn well you hate hurting people and avoid conflict like the plague whenever possible.”

He laughed in response. “You do know me far better than anyone else.”

She looked at the clock on the wall. “We’ve still got a bit before Rickon wakes. Do you have a question?”

He hadn’t truly thought about it. He’d been too focused on figuring out how to explain the answer to her own question. But he realized he did have one. “Why is it so important to you that Jon learns the truth about his parents?”

She sighed. “It isn’t. It matters very little to me. It’s important to Jon.”

“Lyanna was very clear, Catelyn. She intended me to take this secret to the grave. Jon is to remain my son forever.”

“I’m not talking about what Lyanna intended,” Catelyn snapped. “To paraphrase your sister, I don’t really know Lyanna at all. My concern is Jon. And I know this will make you angry, Ned, but hear me out. I don’t know that a woman who began a love affair with a known criminal she was supposed to be helping bring down, and then had a child with him is necessarily the gold standard of good decision making.”

“This isn’t about her decisions, Cat. I admit she made some alarmingly bad ones. It’s about Jon’s safety. I’ve actually researched the Targaryens quite a bit over the years. They aren’t people to mess around with. They kill people, Catelyn. Lots of people.”

“I know. Do you think I haven’t done any research of my own since you first told me all of this?” She shook her head and frowned at him. “Rhaegar is dead. And we actually know more about how that happened than the rest of the world does. Aerys is ill and incapacitated. I saw a couple of articles that speculate he’s actually dead already, and it’s just being kept hush-hush. Rhaella Targaryen doesn’t seem to like having her name in the papers. Stays mostly abroad with her teenaged daughter. Honestly, it seems Elia Targaryen is the most visible of the bunch. One very good article surmised that her brother is helping her run the Targaryen organization with her children.”

“Rhaenys and Aegon,” Ned murmured. “Twenty-three and nineteen.”

“Jon’s sister and brother,” Catelyn said quietly.

“They’re nothing to him,” Ned said quickly.

“They may know he exists, Ned. Rhaella does. Jon Connington does, and he’s still with them. Rhaegar has a brother who’s somewhere in his 20’s now, too. I can’t remember his name. There isn’t much about him in what I read.”

“Viserys,” Ned provided. “He’s . . . troubled, from what I can gather. Several petty arrests that have all been wiped away and covered up as neatly as possible.” He sighed. “No one in the general public really knows who does what in that organization. It’s too large. Too secretive. But the best sources I’ve found do believe there’s a strong Martell influence in the upper levels of power that’s grown over the years since Rhaegar’s death. Lyanna said Elia Martell Targaryen was trapped by Rhaegar for love of her children, but would seem she’s the one calling a lot of the shots now. And Cat, if she knows about Jon’s existence, I can’t imagine she’d see him as anything other than a threat to her own children’s power. And Viserys and his younger sister already pose threats. Do you think she’d welcome Jon with open arms?”

“Ned, I’m not suggesting we pack the boy a bag and send him to them! God! I don’t want Jon anywhere near a bunch of international mobsters!” She shook her head. “Jon has questions. They will haunt him all his life. Everyone wants to know who they are, Ned. Jon is no exception. Now, you could make up some stories about Anna Snow if you wish. But there is no Anna Snow. And for all her faults, you love Lyanna, Ned, and she was brave to do what she did for her son. Doesn’t he deserve to know that?”

“And what’s to keep him from charging off to meet his brother and sister then, Cat? Once he knows the truth?”

“Common sense? Ned, you raised him! Do you think Jon has the slightest interest in organized crime or terrorism? He’ll be appalled by the very idea!”

“Exactly! Why have him know that his father was a criminal?”

“His father gave up his life to save Jon and his mother. I’m not saying that makes up for every evil thing Rhaegar Targaryen did, you know. He wasn’t a good man. I’m only saying that in the one moment that he got to be Jon’s father, he was a good father—he quite literally gave everything he had for his son. Both of Jon’s parents did that, Ned, and I think that one day Jon would appreciate knowing that.”

“He’s seventeen. He’s too young,” Ned sighed.

“Probably. He’s a very smart and sensible boy, but like any teenager, he has gotten rather emotional and dramatic at times. It has only been a couple years since I was Satan, after all.”

“He never called you Satan.”

“Not to my face, anyway.” She smiled at him briefly before continuing. “There’s not an easy answer, Ned. Whenever he learns the truth, he’ll resent the fact that you lied. If you are the one who tells him the truth, he’ll resent it less than if he finds out some other way. Like I did. And I know you keep telling yourself the blood type thing is never going to come up again, but you don’t know that!” She sighed. “I want him to know the truth, and I want him to hear it from you. I understand your wanting to wait until he’s actually an adult and therefore less likely to imagine fairytale reunions with his long-lost siblings, but you can’t wait until he’s been an adult so long that your, ‘I wanted you to be old enough to understand’ excuse will ring hollow. And I want both of you to have enough time still to find your way back to each other if he does react too terribly. You need each other, Ned. Whatever the genetics are, you are his father and he is your son. His biological origins don’t change that.”

“How can you be sure he’ll feel the same?” Ned asked her.

“I can’t. Not 100%. But I do know Jon. And I know the man who raised him. Both can react badly to things at times, but neither is stupid. And both love their family very much.”

“I just can’t take the risk, Cat. There’s too much at stake for Jon if anyone outside this family learns who he is.”

“There’s a lot at stake for all of us if the wrong people find out who he is, Ned. You’ve told me that, yourself, and I believe it. What if Rhaegar’s other children do know they have a younger half-brother? What if they look for him? If the Agency could infiltrate the Targaryens, is it so difficult to imagine the Targaryens could infiltrate the Agency? And someone there could almost certainly come up with the fact that Rose Winters was Agent Lyanna Stark. And what about Lyanna herself? She seems to be a pretty resourceful woman. She could very possibly stay off the radar for years and decide it’s finally safe enough to come back and introduce herself to her son.”

“She told me she was never coming back, Cat.”

“I know that. And I know that I’d exile myself to the moon if it were necessary to keep my children safe. But if I’d lived safely on the moon for twenty years and nothing bad ever happened, I might start to wonder about those children because I’d miss them every second of every day, Ned. I don’t doubt she intended to disappear forever. I just don’t know how long forever will last.”

He’d honestly not given much thought to possibilities like these. Catelyn had alluded to them before, but that had been during various arguments and he’d been too busy defending Lyanna against the things Catelyn said and shouting at her about the importance of Jon’s safety to listen to her. “Jon’s safety has to come first. Nothing is more important than that,” he said brusquely.

Catelyn took a deep breath the way he’d seen her do more than a thousand times when trying not to lose her temper with the children. “Our safety, the safety of this family, which absolutely includes Jon, comes first,” she said firmly. “And Jon is certainly the family member most at risk,” she added before he could protest. “Jon is also the family member who could potentially protect himself better if he knew the truth. Ned, I wouldn’t say that if I didn’t believe it. Not now, perhaps. But next year, he’ll be leaving for college. Four years after that, God only knows where he’ll be. You can keep a little boy safe at home, Ned, but you can’t do that for a man. And even as I acknowledge there is some risk, I think it’s unfair to Jon the man to withhold information from him about himself.”

“You think it’s unfair to Jon,” Ned echoed, hating the edge of bitter irony he heard in his own voice.

“I do,” she said simply. “And I think I know more about being unfair to Jon than anyone.”

He stared at her. 

“Well, it’s true, after all.” When he remained silent, she rolled her eyes. “Oh, go ahead and laugh, Ned. If we can’t laugh at any of the awful things we’re confessing to, we’ll never get through this.”

He did laugh then and found himself breathing a bit more easily. “What now?” he asked her when their laughter subsided.

“Have I answered that question to your satisfaction?”

“This isn’t a courtroom, Catelyn.”

“I know. It’s just that we haven’t actually communicated with each other in so long, I want to make certain we both hear clearly and understand.”

Ned had always loved his wife’s eminently rational and practical mind, but at the moment his own mind felt somehow completely drained and overfull all at once, and he wished she could be just a little less task oriented. “Yes, Cat, I understand where you’re coming from. I don’t know that I agree entirely with you, but I understand why you feel as you do, and your reasons are sound.”

She continued looking at him.

“And motivated by concern for all of us rather than any vindictive reasons I may have accused you of during any arguments on the subject.”

She smiled at him. “Thank you. For what it’s worth, I don’t really believe any of the nastier things I said about your sister during any arguments either.”

He laughed. “So, do you have another question?”

“Mommy! Where are you?” rang out plaintively before he could answer.

She took a deep breath. “I’m in the kitchen, Rickon,” she called out. “And we do not yell between rooms!” Looking at Ned, she added in her normal voice, “And that probably woke up a few more of them.”

“Not Sansa,” Ned laughed.

“Or Robb or Jon,” Catelyn laughed in return. The older three could sleep through just about anything.

“Oh, Cat!” Ned suddenly exclaimed, and he touched his own neck because he didn’t think she’d appreciate him reaching for hers. The hickey was clearly visible above her robe. He’d noticed it as soon as he’d seen her in the game room, but didn’t think she’d want him to comment on it.

“What? Oh. Rickon’s seen it. He slept with me last night, remember? He crawled in bed and asked me who pinched my neck.” She rolled her eyes. “I told him the clasp of a necklace got caught on it.”

“He bought that?” Ned said, looking at the size of the bruise.

She shrugged. “He’s a little boy. And he doesn’t wear necklaces.”

“Are you planning another turtleneck today?” he couldn’t resist asking.

“Why? I think Bran and Arya are the only two who haven’t seen it or at least heard about it. Sansa actually brought me some concealer last night she says will cover anything.”

“Do I want to know why our fifteen year old daughter has concealer that covers anything?”

Catelyn laughed. “I asked her that. She got it from Margaery Tyrell. Apparently the young lady got a tattoo her parents don’t know about, and uses this stuff to cover it when she’s around them.”

Ned shook his head. He wasn’t quite certain he approved of the friendship between Sansa and the Tyrell girl. Margaery was two years older—captain of the cheer squad as a junior and Sansa was the only freshman girl to make the varsity squad. She adored the older girl and had spent a great deal of time with her since the summer. As he’d first been too busy arguing with Catelyn and then not even living at home as this friendship developed, Ned felt he’d been neglecting his duties as a father. 

“I’ll put on the concealer because I think the older ones would rather not stare at the stupid thing all day,” Catelyn was saying, “but they all know something’s up. We’re going to have to tell them something.”

“We can start by telling them you’re staying until tomorrow. That’ll make them happy.” He paused. “A tattoo, Cat? Are we sure this girl’s not a bad influence?”

“Well, I can’t say I approve of everything she does, Ned, but she does seem like a nice enough girl who genuinely likes Sansa. And I can’t very well let Sansa cheer but forbid her form talking to the cheer captain. Sansa and I talk a lot. She has no desire to get a tattoo, and she understands when I don’t let her go everywhere Marg or some of the other older girls go. She doesn’t always like it, but she understands. She realizes she is only a freshman.”

“Maybe I should talk to . . .”

“No. You should definitely not. Especially not now. Sansa won’t want to listen, I’m afraid. You’ll only make her angry because she’ll see you as jumping in and treating her like a baby when you’ve barely said two words to Margaery ever.”

Now, Ned definitely felt like an absentee father, but he wasn’t going to criticize Catelyn’s handling of Sansa or any of the children. That would certainly not help his situation. 

“Mommy!” This time the voice came from the doorway, and Rickon came running in to throw his arms around Catelyn and give her a big hug. Then to Ned’s delight, he turned to him and said, “Daddy!” and jumped up into his lap. “Today is Christmas Eve. That means Santa Claus comes tonight,” Rickon announced joyfully.

“Indeed it does, little man, indeed it does.”

“Did the snow bury your car again, Mommy?” he asked, and Catelyn laughed at the hopeful expression on his face.

“No, there was no new snow, Rickon.” When the little boy’s face fell, she quickly added, “But I’ve decided to stay anyway. We’ll do Christmas Eve here, and then I’ll drive us to Grandpa Hoster’s tomorrow.”

“Yes!” Rickon shouted. “Daddy! Mommy is going to stay! You can sleep in my room again, Mommy! I’m gonna tell everybody!”

As quickly as he’d entered the kitchen, he was gone, bounding up the stairs shouting, “Mommy is staying for Santa Claus! Mommy is staying for Santa Claus!”

Ned was still laughing at him when Catelyn got up. “Guess I’d better shower and dress and put on Margaery Tyrell’s magic concealer,” she said with a smile.

“You can use our shower if you like,” Ned offered, but she shook her head.

“All my borrowed hair products and cosmetics are in the guest bath. But I will rummage around in the master bedroom for something to wear.”

He nodded. “I’ll start the pancakes. If Rickon keep this up, even the older three will be awake soon.”

Christmas Eve breakfast was his traditional contribution to the holiday food celebrations. Catelyn baked all the treats and cooked Christmas Eve dinner, but Ned made everybody pancakes for Christmas Eve breakfast. 

She smiled again. He’d never get tired of her smile. “Mmm. The smell of pancakes will get them all down here,” she said and turned to go. As she reached the door, she turned back around. “Ned? I’ve missed our early mornings in the kitchen, too.” Then she was gone with Ned smiling after her.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Catelyn had barely stomped the snow off her boots and removed them when she heard her cell phone cheerily playing “Jingle Bell Rock” from wherever she’d left it lying. Hurriedly, she shed the remainder of her outerwear and tried to remember where she’d left the thing, following the sound of the Christmas ringtone in search of it. The tune made her smile, and she realized this was the first time she’d genuinely smiled about it since Sansa had switched it this year. Knowing of her mother’s love of holiday music, Sansa chose some cheerful Christmas tune for her phone every year, and Catelyn usually loved it, but this year it had only served as a reminder of how terribly wrong everything was. Now, with her cheeks still burning from the cold after a pleasant couple hours sledding and otherwise playing in the snow like a kid with Ned and the actual children, she couldn’t help letting some real Christmas joy sneak into her heart. It scared her a bit after everything that had transpired over the past seven months or so, but for the first time in a long time, she felt at least as hopeful as scared. 

“Jingle Bell Rock” had stopped playing, but it had definitely come from this floor rather than upstairs. Where had she had it last? Maybe the sun porch where she’d been helping the kids wrap a few gifts at the last minute as she always had to do. There’d been great jubilation among the younger Starks this morning when she’d confirmed during their long, lazy pancake breakfast Rickon’s assertion that she’d be staying in Winterfell until it was time to leave for Riverrun tomorrow. There’d been questions as well, especially from the older kids, but Ned had shut them down by stating, “We are a family. Whatever happens between your mother and me, we are always your parents, and we’ve simply decided that we both want to celebrate Christmas with all of you.” When several of the kids had obviously been about to voice more questions, he’d held up his hand and said, “That’s all I have to say on the subject at the moment. So let’s get on with the business of enjoying Christmas.”

His tone of voice had made it clear the subject was closed, but Catelyn knew perfectly well it wouldn’t remain closed for long. And it shouldn’t. The kids deserved to know something, but at the moment, she had no more definite idea of precisely what to tell them than Ned did, so she’d assisted in changing the subject by offering her gift wrapping services, knowing full well that all of her children except Sansa claimed to be incapable of wrapping anything themselves. They’d all gladly accepted her offer, and she’d spent the next couple hours in the sun porch as all of the kids came in one or two at a time with their presents for their father and for whichever sibling’s name they had drawn. Each of them in turn had expressed dismay over the fact that their gifts for her were at home in King’s Landing, but she’d assured them she’d happily open them at Riverrun and reminded them that her gifts for them were at home as well. She’d also teased each of them rather mercilessly about what they had intended to do about wrapping if she hadn’t come to Winterfell.

Even as she cheerily proclaimed it would simply prolong the joy of giving and receiving gifts, she’d found herself secretly wishing that all the presents would be opened here tomorrow morning like they always were. Rickon had asked her if Daddy was coming to Riverrun, too, since they were all doing Christmas together, and she had to tell him no. He’d looked sad, but had simply said, “Okay,” after a moment and thankfully hadn’t pressed the issue. Jon and Robb came in together as they had pooled their resources for Ned’s gift and neither of them had drawn the other in the sibling exchange. Catelyn had felt both of them watching her and listening to everything she said entirely too closely, but they hadn’t voiced any of the questions they so obviously wanted to ask. Neither had Arya, surprisingly enough. Her younger daughter had at been uncharacteristically quiet, and simply said, “Thanks, Mom. Now Sansa won’t complain that her present isn’t pretty enough,” as Catelyn added an extra bow and used the scissor edge to curl the ribbon. Bran had wrapped his presents, but didn’t think they looked good enough once he saw his siblings come out and place their Catelyn-wrapped presents under the tree, so he’d come to have her “fix” them. She’d assured him they looked wonderful, but at his insistence had retaped the edges a bit more neatly and added some ribbon. Finally, Sansa had come in.

She’d brought no presents, having wrapped her own perfectly beautifully. She’d asked if she could have some of the wrapping paper and ribbons and bows because she knew her brothers and sisters would all be asking her to wrap Catelyn’s presents when they got home tomorrow. Catelyn had laughed at her and told her she’d put all the wrapping supplies in the car and Sansa could wait to rescue her wrapping-impaired siblings at Riverrun because they’d only be stopping at the house in King’s Landing long enough to grab what they needed to take to Grandpa Hoster’s.

Sansa had nodded and then said, “Mom? What’s really going on with you and Dad?” Catelyn had realized then that getting her alone to ask that question had been Sansa’s primary motivation in coming to ask for wrapping paper.

“I can’t give you a precise answer to that, Sansa,” Catelyn had answered with a sigh. “But we’re talking to each other. And listening to each other. Which is something we’ve done far too little of for far too long. And that’s a good thing for all of us.” 

“You’ve done more than talk to each other,” Sansa had said with a smirk reminiscent of Margaery Tyrell, and Catelyn had found herself wondering if Ned might be right about the older girl’s influence on their daughter.

Frowning slightly, she’d replied, “I love you, sweetheart, but some things are simply not your business. Now, go on and see what the others are up to. I’ll clean up this mess and then join the rest of you.”

She didn’t remember picking up her phone when she’d left the sun porch, and then the kids had wanted to go out in the snow and had cajoled Ned and her into joining them. It must be in there. She went to retrieve it and see who had called before she went to the kitchen to figure out what she could come up with for Christmas Eve Dinner. No one, including her, had wanted to drive to the store. She supposed she’d have to come up with some little something for lunch as well as the kids would undoubtedly be starving when they came in.

Her phone was indeed lying on the little table in the sun porch, and she picked it up to discover four missed calls from Hoster Tully.

“Oh dear God!” she exclaimed. She hadn’t called her father to tell him she was driving the kids to Winterfell and certainly hadn’t called to tell him she was staying here. He must think she was alone in King’s Landing not answering her phone, and she quickly hit the ‘call back’ button lest he jump in his car and drive up to check on her.

“Little Cat? Are you all right? I’ve been trying to call you for nearly two hours!” her father’s voice exclaimed before the phone even had a chance to ring once completely.

“I’m fine, Dad. I just didn’t have my phone. I’m sorry to have worried you.”

“Well . . . you know I don’t like the idea of your spending Christmas Eve alone. I told Brynden I was coming to get you whether you wanted me to or not, but he insisted that I call you first. Said you’re grown woman who can take care of herself and not a little girl to be fetched home.” Hoster’s voice made it clear that he did not entirely agree with his brother’s assessment, and Catelyn sighed.

“He’s right, Dad. I’m driving in with the kids tomorrow. We’ve been over this.”

“But it’s ridiculous! I understand that you have to give them time with their father for their sake whether the man deserves your consideration or not, but you don’t have to sit around by yourself waiting for them to return. It’s ridiculous! If Robb can drive them to Winterfell and back, he can drive them the rest of the way here. You get packed up, get in your car now, and you can be here well before dinner time. Lysa isn’t coming until tomorrow, but Ed and Roslin will be here any minute, and Brynden’s been here two days already, drinking up my scotch! What?” That last word was shouted away from the phone, and Catelyn was relatively certain it wasn’t directed at her. Her father’s laughter a moment later confirmed that. “He says since Stark won’t be here, he figures he should drink up his share as well.” Catelyn knew her father was angry at Ned. She’d not had any more specific answers for him about the divorce than for her children, and he’d looked at the basic facts—Ned left the house and then filed for divorce—and jumped to the conclusion he was cheating on her again. Catelyn, knowing that Ned had never cheated on her in the first instance but reeling from his lie and the the knowledge he’d moved in with Ashara Dayne, even temporarily, after their split, hadn’t really defended him against Hoster’s accusations. She’d merely told her father she didn’t want to discuss it. Still, it bothered her that her father thought she’d be amused by a joke at Ned’s expense.

“Dad, I . . .

“You need to be with your family, Little Cat! It’s Christmas, for God’s sake!”

“I know.” She took a deep breath. “And I am with my family.”

“What?”

“I’m in Winterfell, Dad.”

“Winterfell? What the hell are you doing in Winterfell? Catelyn, what . . .”

“Dad!” she interrupted rather forcefully. “If you’d just listen for a moment, I’ll explain it!” Or some of it anyway. She had no intention of sharing everything that had happened with her father. “There was a terrible snowstorm. Neither Ned nor I wanted Robb to risk getting caught driving in it so . . .”

“So he asked you to drive them? Put all of you in danger rather than just the kids? The nerve of that . . .”

“Dad!” Catelyn nearly growled from between clenched teeth. “He did no such thing. He was going to drive to King’s Landing and pick them up, but that would have taken far more time than my just driving them, and I honestly thought I could beat the storm. I nearly did. I swear we made it to Winterfell easily enough. Unlike Robb, I’ve driven in snow plenty of times. But, driving back was impossible, so I had to stay here the last two nights. And now . . . well, it’s Christmas Eve. The kids all want me to stay, and Ned and I talked about it, and we both agreed it was for the best, so the kids and I will get up tomorrow morning and leave for Riverrun after they get their presents like we always have.”

Hoster was quiet so long that Catelyn actually feared he’d hung up. “Dad?” she asked.

Then she heard him sigh. “Are you sure you’re all right, Little Cat?” he finally asked. “I know this can’t be easy for you. A lot of memories in that place. Is he at least not acting like an ass? You are the mother of his children. You deserve all the respect in the world from that man and if he isn’t treating you right, you pack them up and come here right now, do you hear me? You owe Eddard Stark nothing, little girl. Nothing at all.”

Catelyn closed her eyes and took a deep breath of her own. “Dad . . . I’m not a little girl. I haven’t been a little girl for a very long time. I am forty-three years old. I have a job and six children. Uncle Brynden’s right. I can take care of myself. As for Ned . . . the past six or seven months hasn’t been easy, I’ll admit that. And we’ve both been awful to each other at times. But we’re okay at the moment. I promise. It’s Christmas at Winterfell, Dad—something my children have cherished all their lives. And Ned and I both love our children. We can give them this.”

“Maybe that man should realize that what his children really need is a father who knows how to love and honor their mother!”

“Dad! That’s enough! I understand that you want to protect me. I do. I pretty much want to claw the eyes out of anyone who hurts my children, and I suppose I always will. But, Ned is the father of my children and he always will be. You can’t speak about him like that! Especially in front of my children. That won’t help anyone. Do you hear me?”

“I’m not going to insult the man in front of his children, but I can’t forgive him for what he’s done to you. After you forgave him more than he ever had a right to ask!”

“Oh, for the love of God, Daddy! Stop dredging up ancient history. This is my marriage, not yours. And I will deal with my husband and my children and anything concerning us as I see fit. It’s not your place to judge any of us. Including Ned. So, please, Daddy. Just back off. Trust me. Let me handle my life. If I need you, I swear I will ask for help. I know you’re there for me. But right now, it’s time for me to be there for my children. For my family. Can’t you understand that?”

He was silent again for a moment. “I do understand, Cat. I wish I didn’t because I want to come all the way up there and scoop you up and bring you home. But I know you better than to think you’d ever allow it. Oh, shut up, Bryn! Of course, I know her. She’s my daughter, not yours!” Catelyn couldn’t help but smile at the thought of her uncle listening to her father’s end of the conversation and making faces at him or shaking his head or offering muttered commentary. The two brothers had essentially raised her, Lysa and Edmure after her mother’s death, and she’d listened to the two of them bicker for years. And although her father had struggled to make even a rather uneasy peace with his younger brother’s sexual orientation, Catelyn knew he loved him dearly and likely wouldn’t have survived losing his wife and being left with three small children without Brynden’s support. And while she would never say so to her father, Brynden probably did know her better. Her father loved her dearly, but he had never been as good at listening as her uncle.

“Oh, that man’s going to be the death of me,” her father muttered into the phone, “But I suppose he means well. At least I know I can count on him to gut Ned Stark like a fish if you ever wish it.”

“Dad!”

“I’m kidding, Little Cat. Sort of. Anyway, I’ll see you and the children tomorrow, and I promise I’ll be on my best behavior. What’s the situation with Jon for tomorrow? The way he yanked the boy out of your house, I can imagine Ned’s opinion on the subject, but I don’t really give a damn what he thinks. Since you’re there, let Jon know he’s welcome for Christmas this year just like every other. None of this is his fault, after all.”

Tears came to Catelyn’s eyes. No one had been angrier about Jon’s existence than her father. Yet where she had consciously worked toward forgiving Ned quickly and held on to a guilty, lingering resentment toward the innocent child for much too long, her father had stayed angry at Ned much longer than Catelyn felt was reasonable but very quickly came to view Jon as simply a child caught up in a mess not of his own making. And while Lysa had always tended to look down a bit on Jon, Catelyn thought that as a child, Jon had probably felt more acceptance from her father, uncle and brother than from her. And that caused her to love the men of her family dearly even as it filled her with shame.

“I’ll ask him if he wants to come, Dad. Thank you for that.”

“All right, Little Cat. You get back to my grandchildren, and I’ll see you all tomorrow. It’s a long drive so be careful.”

“I will. Merry Christmas, Daddy.”

“You can tell me that tomorrow. With a big kiss!”

She laughed as she said goodbye and hit End Call. When she looked up, Ned was standing in the doorway with an impenetrable look on his face.

“Daddy,” she said, holding up her phone.

“So I gathered. But while I’m fairly certain he was wishing death upon me for a great deal of that call, did he actually tell you to ask me to Riverrun?”

“God no!” Catelyn said without thinking. Then she laughed and shook her head a little. “I’m sorry. It’s just . . . the idea of my father wanting you anywhere near him right now is pretty ludicrous.”

“Hates me, huh?”

“Well . . . he’s very angry at you, Ned. I’m afraid he’ll always see me as his to protect regardless of how often I remind him I’m a grown woman.”

Ned walked over to her and pushed a stray strand of hair back from her face. “I don’t blame him, Cat. I deserve every epithet he’s likely given me—and then some.” When she began to protest, he actually put a finger gently to her lips, a gesture she had used on him playfully during arguments over the years—back when their arguments could still be playful. “I mean that,” he said. “You deserve better than what I’ve given you. And I’m the father of two girls so I understand Hoster much better than you do on this. If anyone ever hurt Sansa or Arya the way I’ve hurt you, I’d likely go to prison for assault and battery.”

Catelyn tried hard to concentrate on his words rather than his proximity and the feel of one of his hands on her cheek where he’d left it after brushing back her hair and the touch of his finger to his lips, but her heart was beating much faster than it had been. She reached up and took hold of his hand to pull his finger away from her mouth. “Well, my father’s health isn’t very good anymore, you know, but he did offer to have my uncle gut you like a fish if I wished it.”

Ned laughed. “Brynden would do it, too. He’d go to jail for you any day of the week.” They still stood with their faces entirely too close together with his hand still on her cheek. “So did you put the hit on me, Cat? Or ask for a stay of execution?”

She licked her lips. “I told him I would deal with my own husband.” 

His eyes darkened then and he dropped his hand from her cheek and backed away.

“Ned?” she asked, puzzled.

“God!” he said under his breath like a curse. “To hear you call me your husband is the sweetest thing, Cat. And to know that it’s no longer true because I’m a goddamn fool hurts so much that . . .” He just shook his head and walked over to one of the glass walls, looking outward.

She had said husband, she realized. Both to her father and to Ned. And she hadn’t even mentally corrected it to ex-husband as she’d been so careful to force herself to do. She truly was beginning to imagine a future with the two of them together again regardless of how hurt she felt or how frightened she felt of ending up here again. “Where are the children, Ned?” she asked him, not wanting any of them to walk in at this particular moment when both of them had too many emotions too close to the surface.

“The Cerwyns’,” he said without turning around. “Cley came over in that old fashioned horse drawn sleigh of theirs. Rickon was completely astonished. I don’t think he really remembers it because they haven’t had it out the last couple Christmases.”

“Four,” Catelyn said absently. “It had gotten quite dilapidated and four years ago, Medger was afraid it honestly wasn’t safe. He planned to have it restored—the thing’s an actual antique after all. I guess he finally got it done.”

“Four years,” Ned said absently. “No wonder Rickon doesn’t remember.” He turned around to face her. “Time goes too quickly, Cat.”

“Sometimes,” she agreed. “The children certainly grow too quickly. Did they go riding in the sleigh?”

He nodded. “It seats four so Cley could take three of them at a time. Apparently, the Cerwyns are holding some sort of large soiree tomorrow evening and he came over to invite us. I told him you and the children would be leaving in the morning. Apparently, Medger’s having big ice sculptures done, and Cley offered to take them all to see them at least. Even offered them lunch. I think he’s tired of having only his sister for company.”

“Well, Jonelle is a good bit older than Cley. Are you certain the Cerwyns won’t mind the invasion?”

“I don’t think so. Considering they live here year round, Cley’s pretty isolated from other young people. Medger likes it when Robb and Jon are here for him.”

Catelyn laughed. “And with Robb and Jon, he puts up with the other four?”

Ned laughed, too. “Well, for sleigh rides to see ice sculptures, certainly. No way were they going to be left out. I did tell them they had to be home by five. You don’t mind that I let them go, do you?”

She shook her head. “It’s good for them to get their minds off the two of us this Christmas.”

Ned frowned. “Catelyn, I didn’t send them away on purpose, but I admit I was glad Cley showed up. I wanted more time to talk with you. And after hearing your end of that conversation with your father . . . I just . . . you said this morning you had questions, plural. But you only got to ask me one before Rickon showed up. What else do you want to ask me?”

“You only got to ask me one, too.”

“Still, it’s your turn.”

She sighed. “All right. Are you hungry, though? I can make you some lunch since it appears our kids are being fed elsewhere.”

“No. I’m not hungry. I just want to talk with you. I want . . .” He swallowed. “I want to be your husband again. Even if your father never lets me set foot in Riverrun for the rest of my life. I’ll accept any penance he wishes to give me. I just want . . . us.”

“Ned,” she sighed. “It isn’t about penance. And my father doesn’t have a damn thing to do with it. I love him, but this is my life. You and the children have come first in my life for a long time, and he knows that even if he does tend to bluster. He’ll accept whatever I say. As for me, I’m not interested in the least in punishing you. You’ve been punishing yourself for years, and I didn’t even know it. Oddly enough, that hurts me as much as anything. I’ve always believed I know you better than anyone in the world, and yet you managed to hide that so completely from me. It isn’t penance I need, Ned. It’s . . . some sort of reassurance that I’m not married to a stranger, I guess. That I haven’t been somehow deluding myself that I know you for the past twenty years.”

“Catelyn,” he said, coming to stand directly in front of her again, if not quite so close as earlier, “No one on this earth has ever known me the way you do. I’m . . . not a very open person. Or at least I never was until I loved you. But you . . . you make me want to open myself up . . . to share all of myself with you. You were never wrong to believe that, my love. Holding onto that secret for all those years . . . watching you struggle to make peace with it . . . it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done. And I never had to do it in the first place. I never should have done it. I don’t know how many times you’ll need to hear me say I was wrong, but I’ll say it as often as you need to hear it.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to hear it anymore. I believe you, Ned. I can’t promise I won’t get upset or bring it up again some time because it still hurts a lot, but I want to put that conversation behind us. What I meant is that I need to get to know you again, in this new . . . reality, for lack of a better word. I have to get to know you again and reassure myself that you are still the man I love, the man I called my husband. Because you’ve done things I never in a million years would have imagined my husband doing.”

“Ask me, Cat. Ask me any question you want.” 

He looked tired. She supposed both of them were sleep deprived. And they’d run around like teenagers in the snow with the kids, laughing and simply enjoying life for a brief time like two people who weren’t trying to climb out of an abyss and hoping they could find the way. “Let’s sit down,” she said, walking to the little sofa and motioning him to join her.

When he was seated beside her, she forced herself to look directly at him and ask directly something she never had. “Why did you quit? Why did you divorce me?” Her voice shook, and she hated that, but she got the words out without looking away from him.

He looked stricken and turned his eyes down momentarily. In shame? In an attempt to hide something from her? She wished she knew. After a moment, though, he looked back up at her and spoke without looking away once. “Because I didn’t consider the woman I married, the woman I know and love more than life itself. I was so lost in my own guilt and fear and desperation that I began behaving as if I didn’t know you at all. And I have no excuse for that. I don’t even have an explanation, really, except that maybe I’d lived so long with the fear you’d find out and hate me one day that I couldn’t even allow for the possibility that you didn’t hate me.” 

“I could never hate you. I told you that last night and again this morning.”

“I know. But I convinced myself that you must. And then when you said you couldn’t do this anymore . . . that you were done . . . I thought you were done with us. That you wanted out. So I . . . let you go. I didn’t want to force you to stay.”

“Let me go? Ned, I never went anywhere! You left! I was always right there. In our house. With our children. I never once told you I was done with us! Don’t you dare put this on me because I never gave up! As angry as I was at you, I never gave up on us. Even when I believed you were fucking damned Ashara Dayne, I prayed that I was wrong—that somehow we were going to get through this. And then . . . it was over. You sued for divorce. We never even talked about divorce, Ned! I never once even said the word divorce! Don’t you dare put this on me because I’m not the one who quit!”

“I know,” he said softly.

“You know? But you just said . . .”

“You asked me why I divorced you, and I answered you as well as I could. I know you never wanted a divorce. If I hadn’t been so caught up in my own damn paranoia and guilt and just thought about you instead of myself for five fucking minutes—really thought about who you are, I mean, because I know you, Catelyn, I know you better than anyone does and better than I know anyone else—if I’d thought about that, I’d have realized how wrong I was. But I didn’t think about anyone but myself. I can say I was thinking about Jon, I can say I was thinking about you, but at the end of the day, I was just thinking about how badly I’d fucked everything up and how I had to fix it. And I couldn’t fix it, and I just . . . I don’t know, Cat. I can’t explain it any better than that because I honestly don’t understand it myself. I feel like I’ve been just acting on impulses, the worst possible impulses, and then getting pushed along from one moment to the next as if I’m on some sort of runaway train for months. And that’s a copout, I know. I’m responsible for everything I’ve done, but it’s as if I couldn’t open my eyes and see it all until I saw you here. And . . . that’s inexcusable. But . . . I don’t have any more words except that I’m sorry. And in spite of the fact that I served you with those damn papers, I’m asking you to believe I never wanted a divorce. And that sounds crazy. And if you don’t believe me, I understand.”

Catelyn could only remember a very few occasions when she’d heard such desperation in Ned’s voice. One of those was the night he’d brought Jon home and told her of his affair with an imaginary woman named Anna Snow. He’d been lying to her then. She thought she heard truth in his words now. If this was some elaborate lie to cover his true motivation for wanting to end their marriage, it was a terrible lie. It barely made sense. She wanted to believe him. As awful as this tale was, it was preferable than believing he’d wanted to divorce her.

“What did I say?” she finally asked him. “To convince you I wanted a divorce, I mean. Because I can’t remember ever saying . . .”

“In the drugstore parking lot,” he said quickly. “When we both showed up to get Sansa’s prescription. We were standing in the parking lot.”

“We were arguing,” she said. “You’d gotten there first and had the prescription and I asked you to give it to me so I could take it home because Sansa was at my house that day, and you got annoyed, asking if I expected her to drag the bottle back and forth.”

“God, I’d forgotten that. I was being an ass, wasn’t I?”

“I told you that I’d split it into two bottles and she could bring one to keep at your place the next time she went over there. And then I asked you . . . how long you intended to stay away.” She tried to keep the tears out of her eyes, but she didn’t like remembering this conversation—the last they’d had before those papers arrived at the house.

“And I asked you if you were ready to listen to reason about telling Jon the truth.”

“Listen to reason,” she shook her head. “I don’t remember your exact words, but I do remember getting angry at being called unreasonable. I think I said something about reasonable people don’t argue in parking lots and that if you wanted to have an actual conversation in which you tried to actually listen to me, we might want to go somewhere else.”

“I don’t even remember that, Cat, to be honest,” Ned admitted with a sad shake of his head. “I do remember hearing you tell me again that I didn’t listen and telling you that you’re the one who never listened and that’s why I couldn’t bring Jon home.”

“Neither of us listened at all, did we?”

“I listened to what you said next,” Ned said sadly. “I can quote word for word.” He paused and then said, “Do whatever you’ve decided to do, Ned. I’ve nothing else to say except that I can’t do this anymore. I’m done.”

“I did say that, didn’t I?” Catelyn said softly. “And I walked away and got in my car. I was so done with that argument, Ned. We’d had it over and over, and I was tired of it. I didn’t want to have it anymore.” She swallowed. “I thought you might call or text or something . . . since I’d told you to do whatever you wanted about telling Jon. I thought that knowing I wasn’t going to bring it up again might convince you to move on to something else—something we could actually talk about without yelling at each other. I just couldn’t fight about that anymore.”

Ned closed his eyes and honestly looked like he was in pain. “I know,” he said with his eyes still closed. “And I should have known then.” He opened his eyes and looked at her. “But that’s not what I heard that day.”

“You just quoted me, Ned. What do you mean that’s not what you heard?”

“I didn’t hear that you were done with arguing about telling Jon. You said you couldn’t do it anymore and had nothing more to say to me. You said you were done. And I heard . . . I thought . . .”

“You thought I was done with our marriage?” Catelyn asked in disbelief as the realization washed over her. “That I was giving up on us? On nearly twenty years, on our children, on the life we built—you thought I was done with all of that? That I just decided to quit in the middle of a Walgreens parking lot?” She couldn’t keep the tears away now. “How could you, Ned? How could you ever believe that of me?”

“I don’t know,” he said desolately. “I sit here and look at you, and I have no idea how I could have believed it. I . . . I can’t even explain how my mind was working. It’s like . . . I had lied for so long, Cat—and I have no one to blame for that but myself, I know that—but I had lied for so long, it’s as if the lie became truth. Lyanna had actually told me that, you know—that I had to make myself believe it so that everyone else would believe it, and eventually it would be the only truth. Now, she was wrong about that because I always knew. How could I not? But I’d kept the truth in a tiny little box pushed way down deep inside for so long that it didn’t seem to matter most days. Jon was my son. I’d done a terrible thing once. But you had forgiven me. Those were my daily truths. The only ones that felt real most of the time. And suddenly all that was turned upside down. And truth and lies---those were just words. Everything was wrong. I felt like I was losing you. I could lose Jon. My children hated me. Nothing in the world made sense, Catelyn. And I had done that to myself. To all of us.” He shook his head and put his face in his hands.

She just sat there trembling, tears rolling down her cheeks not knowing what to say or even how she felt.

Finally, he looked up. “I wish to God I had a better answer for you, Cat. I wish even more I’d never been so stupid and done such a terrible thing. I don’t have any excuses, and I don’t have a better explanation. But I swear to you that this is the only answer I have. This is the truth. As ugly as it is. But in all of that, I never once stopped loving you. I swear that’s the truth as well.”

Still, she sat silently, trying to find something to anchor her in the storm of emotions that threatened to drown her. Ned said nothing further. He only sat beside her, still and silent as well as if he were afraid to leave her but afraid to touch her.

“Kiss me,” she said suddenly.

“What?” he asked, a stunned expression on his face.

She was actually stunned a bit by her own words, but she repeated them. “I said, kiss me, Ned. Please.”

Very slowly, he reached out both hands to cup her face and wiped gently at the tear tracks on her cheeks. Then he leaned toward her bringing his face to hers just as slowly, tentatively as if he wasn’t certain he actually had permission to touch her. He brushed his lips gently over each of her damp eyes first, and the tenderness of the gesture made her cry even more. Then he pressed his lips against hers softly, almost shyly, and she was reminded of the first time he’d kissed her under that big oak tree outside Fine Arts building back in college. He’d kissed her then as if touching her was the greatest privilege in the world and as if he was awed by the fact that she actually permitted him to do so. As he continued to kiss her without attempting to deepen the kiss or pull her against him at all, she realized he felt that way again. For all that they’d practically devoured each other yesterday in the library, he honestly felt that kissing her was a privilege he no longer had the right to claim.

And maybe he was right. They were divorced, after all, and that had been entirely his doing. His complete lack of faith in her, even if it had been temporary and provoked by extreme mental stress, hurt a lot. She hadn’t thought anything could hurt more than knowing he’d lied to her for so long, but she thought that knowing he hadn’t believed in her just might. Even as she reached her own hands upward to touch his bearded face as he kissed her, she thought, _You didn’t believe in me._

But then another thought struck her, and she broke the kiss, pulling back just far enough to look at him, but keeping her hands on his face. “You do believe this divorce was entirely your doing, don’t you?”

“I know it was,” he replied solemnly.

“No,” she said. “You left me. You started the divorce proceedings. Both of those things hurt me. A lot. And it’s probably going to take awhile for me to really deal with that hurt.”

“I understand, Catelyn. I told you I want to be your husband and that I love you. Both of those things are true. But I will not push you. Not after what I’ve put you through.”

“It wasn’t only you,” she said. “You left, but neither of us was listening to the other. You filed for divorce, but I didn’t contest it.”

“I never should have filed in the first place, Cat! I won’t put that on you.”

“Neither will I! That’s not what I’m saying, Ned. You never should have left, but once you did, I could have made it clearer I wanted you to come home. I never asked you why you went to Ashara’s. I just assumed the worst and hoped I was wrong. I could have asked you, Ned. I could have confronted you about that. And God knows you never should have filed for divorce, but I could have contested it. If I’d immediately asked you what the hell you were thinking, maybe you would have realized you hadn’t really thought at all.” She shook her head. “You started it. But neither one of us did anything to stop it. If I’m going to fault you for not believing in me then it’s only fair that I admit that I eventually quit believing in you, too.”

“And where does that leave us?” he asked her.

“Broken,” she said. “But maybe now that we’re trying to honestly figure out how we got that way, we can begin to pick up the pieces.”

“And put them back together?” he asked.

“I hope so.” She sighed and leaned her forehead against his. “I still don’t hate you.”

“Well, I suppose that’s a start.”

She laughed then, and it felt good. In spite of all the ways they’d hurt each other—in spite of having just suffered through one of the most painful conversations of her life, it felt good to laugh with her forehead leaning against his. “I love you too damn much to hate you, Eddard Stark.”

This time he pulled back to look at her. “Enough to marry me?”

“You said you wouldn’t push.”

“I won’t. I’m just . . . testing the waters.”

“Well, they’re still too rough to jump in just yet.”

“But there’s a chance of better weather ahead?” he asked with the hint of a smile.

“The forecast looks more hopeful than it did two days ago,” she responded with a smile of her own.

“Come on,” she said, getting to her feet and reaching down to pull him up. “I really do need to get into the kitchen and sort out what I can do for dinner. And we should both eat a little something, even if we’re not hungry. And maybe drink some more caffeinated beverages.”

He laughed. “You’re as exhausted as I am?”

“Physically, mentally, emotionally. You name it. I’m wiped out.”

“Maybe we should go take a nap.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“An actual nap, Catelyn, as in sleep. I happen to believe I’d sleep better with you beside me. And it’s only . . .” He looked at his watch. “Not quite three o’clock. We could sleep over an hour and still have plenty of time to get up before the kids catch us in bed together.”

“But dinner . . .”

“Catelyn, the kids won’t care what we eat. They’ll be thrilled just to have you here and us not at each other’s throats.”

“We really do have to tell them something, Ned.”

“I know, I know. Let’s sleep on it, shall we?”

She really was tempted. Sleep sounded far more appealing than food, and she knew he was right about them sleeping better beside each other. Even when they had been at each other’s throats this summer, she’d slept much better with him in her bed than she had once he left. “All right,” she said. “But you set that alarm for four o’clock, all right?”

“They aren’t coming home until five, Cat.”

“They don’t have to come home until five. They could be back earlier. I’d rather not have them come up in the bedroom and find us there—even if we are fully clothed and sound asleep. They’re getting their hopes up, Ned. You know it’s true.”

“Aren’t we doing the same thing?” he asked her earnestly.

She sighed. “I’m willing to risk disappointing ourselves, Ned. But doing this to them all over again . . .”

“I’ll set the alarm for four o’clock, Cat.”

She allowed him to lead her upstairs into the master bedroom and tried not to shiver as they walked in together. She’d been in here more than once now to retrieve clothing items, but she hadn’t been here with him. He seemed to sense her apprehension. “We could lie down in the guest room if you like.”

“No,” she said. “I’m so tired my body hurts. And this bed is much more comfortable.”

“All right then. Am I allowed to take off my shoes, at least?”

She laughed at him then. “Don’t be ridiculous, Ned! Of course, we aren’t sleeping in our shoes!”

She yawned as she sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her shoes off. She then lay down without turning down the bedding, instead simply grabbing the quilt folded at the foot of the bed and pulling it up over her. She rolled onto her side and felt the bed move as Ned lay down on his side of the bed behind her.

“Catelyn?”

“Yes?”

“I haven’t asked my second question.”

“I thought you wanted to sleep,” she said, yawning again as she spoke. “But I suppose it’s only fair.” She rolled over to face him, and was almost alarmed at how natural it felt to be lying there looking into those grey eyes.

“I do. This is an easy question. You can answer it with a yes or no.”

“Okay.”

“Can I put my arms around you during this nap?” His face bore an expression so much like Rickon’s when he was half-afraid to ask for something that she had to laugh.

“Yes,” she said simply, choosing not to elaborate on her answer or to consider the wisdom of it. She was too tired. She simply turned her back to him again, but scooted back against him, and when she felt his arm reach over her and hold her tightly, she couldn’t help feeling she was right where she belonged. She didn’t have long to ponder that feeling, however, before she was sound asleep.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Christmas Eve dinner was marvelous. While Ned couldn’t help missing the turkey and all of the made-from-scratch sides that normally accompanied it, Catelyn had done absolutely miraculous things with the frozen pre-cooked boneless chicken breasts and Stove Top stuffing that he and Jon had grabbed at the store. And while he’d questioned Jon’s insistence that he could make good mashed potatoes, Catelyn did put Jon in charge of those, and they were delicious. Of course, Ned watched Jon ask her to taste them about three times and each time she suggested more milk or butter or salt so he suspected that they would not have been quite as good in her absence. He’d never remained in the kitchen throughout the entire Christmas Eve cooking process before, but he found himself not wanting to be apart from her at all and had ended up chopping vegetables and fetching things and generally trying not to get in the way. Mostly, he’d watched her. Everything she did fascinated him, from the unselfconscious way she hummed or sang along to the Christmas carols Sansa had playing through that cylindrical speaker thing that connected with her phone to the authority with which she managed both willing and somewhat competent (Jon and Sansa), willing but much less competent (himself and Bran), and only borderline willing (Arya and Robb) assistants in the meal preparation. 

The kids, with the exception of Jon who honestly seemed to enjoy learning new things in the kitchen, had wandered in and out, of course—pleading exhaustion from their day out in the Snow and at the Cerwyns’ or claiming they had “things” they needed to do. Catelyn had smiled and let them come and go as they pleased. Ned had tried to remember what he normally did on Christmas Eve while Catelyn cooked and wondered what on earth could have been more appealing than just being here with her. She’d caught him staring at her several times, and she’d smiled although she’d quickly looked back to whatever she was working on in an attempt to hide the flush that crept into her cheeks. She hadn’t hidden it successfully, though. Not from him or the kids. He may not be as observant as Catelyn, but he’d not failed to notice all of them watching the two of them. 

Catelyn had again told him they needed to tell the kids something after the alarm had so rudely jarred him from the most pleasant sleep he’d had in months. Waking up with her in his arms had felt more right than anything in a long time in spite of the fact that they were both still tired after their little nap. They hadn’t spoken much, and she’d gotten out of the bed much more quickly than he would have liked, as fearful of being caught there with him as if they were teens sneaking around.

“We were just sleeping, Catelyn. With all of our clothes on, no less.” He’d adopted an expression of deep thought. “Have we ever done that before, actually?”

She’d frowned at him. “Ha. Ha. You know as well as I do that if they come home and find the two of us together in this bedroom in any state of dress, they’re going start imagining you moving back home before New Year’s Eve.”

“And is that such a bad thing?” he’d asked her. 

She’d sighed at him then. “Ned, we’re working toward each other instead of away from each other for the first time in a long time, but . . . I just don’t want them believing in something I can’t promise them yet. Can’t you understand that?”

Reluctantly, he’d nodded. He’d told her a lot of hard truths today and feared she’d ask for more still. “Well, I believe in us, Cat,” he’d told her walking over to put his hands gently on her arms. “I won’t ask you for promises, and I won’t push you for more than you feel you can give. But I’m through with behaving as though we aren’t real, as if what we have together isn’t bigger than all of this shit I’ve put us through. I’ve tried not believing in us, and it’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. I refuse to do it ever again.”

She hadn’t moved away from him. “We’re real,” she’d said softly. “But we aren’t married at the moment, and we’ve still got a lot of raw, jagged edges, Ned. I’m not pushing you away, and I don’t intend to. But we have to tell the children . . . something about where we are now. Because we are not back to where we were before any of this happened, and you know it.”

“We can’t go backwards, my love, and I wouldn’t want to. We can tell them we’re moving forward. That is the truth, isn’t it?”

She’d nodded. “But we have to tell them we don’t know where that’s going to take us. It isn’t that I don’t believe in us, Ned. It’s just . . . I want to be careful of all of them. They’re so young—even Robb and Jon, really—and we’ve already put them through so much.”

He'd nodded. “We’ll tell them something along those lines then. When one of them asks or . . . it seems an appropriate time. But now we’d better comb our hair and get ourselves downstairs before they’re here asking questions you don’t want them to ask.”

He’d kissed her forehead and she hadn’t protested, and then she’d gone to the guest bathroom while he went alone into their master bath. They hadn’t spoken of anything significant since then as the kids had returned (after they were safely downstairs with Cat going through things in the kitchen and him getting the good china and glasses out of the big cabinet in the dining room) full of excitement about sleighs and ice sculptures and Christmas in general. Meal preparation had commenced in earnest shortly thereafter, and then they’d all sat down in the dining room with all of the finery that came out only two or three times a year at most and eaten their somewhat unusual but still tasty Christmas Eve dinner. The kids had talked over each other and laughed with one another and been admonished by their mother for talking with their mouths full or grabbing over people to reach food, and everything had seemed delightfully normal. He’d sat at the head of the table watching her at the other end as she listened to the children’s tales and asked all the right questions to keep the conversation flowing, and he could almost believe this was a Christmas just like any other. He was at Winterfell with his wife and his children, and the past half a year had never happened.

Only it had. Halfway through the dinner, Robb had gone into the kitchen and returned with a box of Lucky Charms which he waved at Sansa. “Hey, Sans! Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be eating this?” he called out with a laugh.

“God, no!” she’d exclaimed dramatically, earning herself a mild censure from Catelyn for taking the lord’s name in vain and laughter from Ned, Arya, Jon, and Robb.

“Why would Sansa want cereal? That’s for breakfast?” Rickon had asked in confusion.

“Oh, she doesn’t, little bro,” Robb had assured him. “But she said she was willing to eat it for Christmas dinner rather than . . .” His face had suddenly fallen as he’d realized explaining the joke meant bringing up Ned’s original intent to have Ashara come cook Christmas dinner for them, and Ned’s own laughter had vanished instantly as well.

“Rather than have Dad try to cook and make something terrible,” Sansa had interrupted quickly. “But fortunately, Mom is here to save us all from that terrible fate, and none of us is forced to eat Lucky Charms or pizza rolls.”

“I like pizza rolls!” Rickon had protested.

“Not for Christmas Eve dinner, goofball!” Arya had said with a rather greater amount of enthusiastically upbeat and affectionate sisterly teasing in her voice than was her norm. When she’d reached over and ruffled Rickon’s hair for good measure, Ned had known for certain that, like her sister, she was working to cover Robb’s almost slip-up. 

Of course, when he’d looked at Catelyn as she carefully looked between Robb, Sansa and himself, he’d known she was fully aware they were covering something up although she’d said nothing, and dinner had continued pleasantly enough. Only, he’d no longer been able to pretend this Christmas was normal. Cat hadn’t asked about Ashara yet. Not really. She’d told him she believed him when he said he hadn’t slept with her, and he believed that she was at least trying to. He could see how much she wanted to, and God he loved her for that. However badly he’d hurt her, she still wanted to believe in him. He probably didn’t deserve a love like that, but he wanted it anyway. He wanted Cat. But at some point in time, she’d ask more questions about Ashara. How could she not? After all, they’d both known for years that Ashara lived in King’s Landing and they’d run into her from time to time. But they didn’t know specifically where she lived. And as far as Catelyn knew, Ned hadn’t seen the woman except on those random, incidental occasions during their entire marriage. So she had to wonder how he’d ended up living in her apartment for two weeks even if she did now believe there was nothing between them. And Ned would have to tell her the truth. And he was afraid she wouldn’t like the answers.

“I think that’s everything, Dad.” Robb’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

“What?” he asked absently.

Robb rolled his eyes and shook his head. “The dishes, Dad. Everything that has to be washed by hand is clean and everything else is in the dishwasher. Leftovers are put away and Arya’s sweeping the floor in the dining room now.” He paused. “And I’m pretty sure that glass can’t get any drier.”

“Oh!” Ned jumped a bit, nearly dropping the glass in question. He’d all but forgotten about the glass and dish towel in his hands as he’d gotten lost in his thoughts. After dinner, he’d declared Catelyn, Jon, and Sansa exempt from clean-up duty as they’d done the most pre-dinner preparation and had corralled the other four kids into helping him. Arya had grumbled the most, but she and Robb had actually worked the hardest. Rickon hadn’t been terribly helpful at all and had actually dropped and broken a bowl while attempting to carry too many items at once to the kitchen. Fortunately it hadn’t been one of the really good ones. So, Ned had let him off early and excused Bran as well as he had tried to help Cat more before dinner than Robb or Arya had.

“Geez, Dad! Are you okay?”

“Yeah, son. Yeah. I’m okay. Just thinking about things.” Ned was rather glad that Robb was at all interested in his well-being considering their interactions thus far since their arrival at Winterfell.

“Thinking about things,” Robb repeated. “Yeah. You need to think about things.”

“Robb . . .”

“Dad, I’m not trying to argue with you. Not on Christmas Eve. But I’m not stupid. None of us are, and pretty much everybody except maybe Rickon knows there’s something going on with you and Mom. Not the divorce crap. I mean something new. Just since we’ve been here. And I don’t just mean the two of you . . . you know.” He looked down and his cheeks reddened some. 

Ned sighed. Catelyn had told him they’d have to say something to the children. He might as well start with Robb. “Robb, I can’t tell you everything that’s going on between your mother and myself. Partly because a lot of it simply isn’t your business, but also because we aren’t entirely certain ourselves.” Robb looked up at him again with questions in the big blue eyes that were so much like his mother’s. “We messed a lot up, Robb. Mostly, I messed a lot up although your mother insists upon shouldering her share of the blame. Here in Winterfell . . . we’ve been listening to each other. And we haven’t done that in far too long. I can’t say what’s going to happen from here, son. I know what I want to happen, but . . . we’re trying to move forward. That’s all I can really say. Your mother is worried about you getting your hopes up—not just you, all of you. She can’t stand it when any of you hurt, Robb, and we both know damn well we’ve hurt all of you.”

“Dad . . . I can’t speak for anybody else, but I’d rather believe that you and Mom can stay married and fix whatever’s wrong than just give up hope. Even if it does mean I get disappointed. I just don’t understand why you left her in the first place, Dad. And why you’re with . . . Dad, you can’t keep being with Ashara if you want Mom. That’s just not right. You can’t do that.”

Ned suppressed the flicker of anger that flared as his firstborn son essentially accused him once more of having an affair because Robb’s voice was laced more with hurt and concern for his mother than anything else. Sansa and Arya had believed he was sleeping with another woman as well, and just because they appeared to believe him now more easily than Robb could didn’t mean that Robb was more wrong. He’d been willfully blind to the appearances of his actions because he’d felt he needed Ashara, but he saw all too clearly now what it must have looked like to Robb. To all of them.

“I haven’t ‘been’ with Ashara in the manner that you mean since before I knew your mother, Robb. And I have no desire to be.” He could plainly see the doubt in Robb’s face. “But I have spent too much time with her. And that is going to change. I’m going to start leaving work early on the Fridays that you kids are at my place so that she doesn’t need to come over. The food quality will go down, but if Sansa’s willing to eat those Lucky Charms and pizza rolls, we should make it all right.”

“Oh, man, Dad. I’m sorry about what I said at dinner. I saw the box and thought it was funny and . . . I didn’t even think about how . . .” Robb’s own guilt about nearly bringing Ashara Dayne up at Christmas Eve dinner had suddenly superseded his need to call out Ned on his transgressions.

Ned held up a hand. “It’s all right. I need to speak with your mother more about Ashara in any event.” He smiled. “Although I’m glad I didn’t have to do it over our holiday dinner.” Robb offered him a weak smile in return, and Ned continued. “As I was saying, I won’t have her around the house anymore, and I won’t spend any time at all with her unless I’m with someone else. I need to remove any appearance of a relationship that isn’t there. To do otherwise is unfair to your mother. And to Ashara as well.”

“I don’t think she’ll like that,” Robb said, the hard tone of his voice making it perfectly clear which woman he spoke about.

“No,” Ned said softly. “I don’t think she will. She was there for me when I needed a friend, and I relied on her more than I had any business doing. And I can now see that it may not only be you children who have developed a mistaken impression of the situation. It’s my mess. I’ll clean it up. That’s what I’ve always told you that you have to do, is it not?”

Robb nodded. 

“Daddy! Robb! What’s taking you so long?” Rickon’s voice preceded him into the kitchen by about three seconds. “Arya said you were all finished, and Mom says we can’t start the next game until you two come!” He stood just inside the kitchen doorway tapping his foot with impatience.

“What game?” Robb asked.

“Uno.”

“Oooh, Uno, huh?” Robb said. “Better not sit next to me, Rickon, ‘cause I always get Draw Four cards and I love to play them!”

“I’m sitting by Mommy,” Rickon smirked, and Ned and Robb both laughed. It was an open family secret that Catelyn had a hard time picking on her baby and tended to hold on to any really damaging Uno cards until play was going in the opposite direction. 

“Well, I suppose we’d better get in there before one of us ends up sitting on Catelyn’s other side,” Ned said, grinning at Robb. When Robb gave him a genuine smile in return, Ned felt at least part of the heaviness that weighed on his heart lighten.

They’d brought the Uno cards out into the great room instead of just congregating in the game room. “Mom wanted a fire,” Arya said in answer to the unasked question as Robb and Ned followed Rickon in. 

“I like fires,” Catelyn said with a shrug.

“You’re cold,” Ned said with a knowing look. “Do you want me to get you a blanket?”

“No. Look at that beautiful fire Jon and Bran built me. I’m already getting toasty warm.”

Ned smiled and took the open place beside her in spite of his declaration that such a thing was to be avoided. He’d gladly lose miserably at Uno and be too close to the fireplace just to be near her now that he saw her looking up at him. She smiled at him as he sat next to her, and he felt like he’d won a prize. It didn’t bother him at all that she played as many rotten cards as she could on him for the next hour. He knew she was just trying to protect Rickon, and he figured he probably deserved it anyway. By the time they’d finished playing, she had the worst score of everyone because refusing to play the big, bad high point cards for at least 50% of each round meant she got stuck with them a lot. He knew she didn’t care, though. She looked so lovely and happy there, surrounded by their children, that Ned wanted the evening to go on forever.

“Mommy, your fire is still big. You have to put it out before Santa comes or he’ll get burned!”

Several people tried with varying success to hide their laughter at that, but Catelyn replied very seriously. “Of course, we’ll put it out, Rickon. Every year, one of you reminds us, and I promise we’ll never forget.”

Rickon started to smile, but then frowned, stuck out his finger and began pointing and counting something. Ned looked to see what he was counting and realized immediately what the problem was. Before he could say anything, Rickon shouted, “Where’s Mommy’s stocking? It’s gone and Santa won’t know where to put her candy!”

Nobody was trying to hide laughter now. The awkward silence lasted just a moment before Catelyn spoke softly, “I wasn’t supposed to be here, remember, Rickon? There wasn’t a reason for Santa to leave candy for someone who wouldn’t be here.”

“Uh huh!” Rickon protested. “When Bran was sick on Halloween when I was five, Arya and me had to bring his bucket, too, and take the candy back to him. We could have took your candy to you even if you had to miss Santa!”

There was no refuting Rickon’s logic without explaining divorce yet again and declaring that Winterfell was no longer home to Catelyn, and Ned simply refused to do that. He wasn’t letting anyone else do it either. “You’re right, Rickon. Jon and I never had to put up the decorations by ourselves before. I’m afraid we aren’t nearly as good at it as your mother is. We must have dropped her stocking! Jon? Can you go look for it?”

“I’ll help!” Rickon volunteered. “It’s a good thing I counted them, huh?”

“It sure is, Rick,” Jon said, rising from where he sat. “Come on, buddy. Let’s go get your mom’s stocking. I hope it fell right back in the box so it’s easy to find.”

Once Rickon had followed Jon from the room, Catelyn sighed. “Ned,” she started to say.

“What did you want me to say, Cat? Honestly, what else could I say?”

“Nothing, I suppose,” she acknowledged. “I just don’t want to confuse him.”

“Mom, we’re all confused,” Arya put in.

“Arya!” Sansa hissed.

“Look, I know we all agreed not to bring this up tonight because it’s Christmas Eve,” Arya said, looking at her sister. Then she turned toward Ned and Catelyn, “But, since Rickon kind of spoiled the mood accidentally, we may as well talk about it.”

“Jon and Rickon won’t be long, Arya,” Ned said. “Jon knows exactly where that stocking is.” Ned clearly recalled Jon watching him as he held the damn thing and looked at it for entirely too long before putting it back in the box.

“So? Rickon’s in this family, too, even if he is little,” Arya insisted. “What is going on with you two this weekend? I mean, it’s nice that you’re not yelling at each other, but . . . you’re acting kinda like you don’t want to get a divorce all of a sudden. So . . . did you make up or what?”

Ned looked at the hopeful faces in front of him and realized what Catelyn had feared. Talking to Robb specifically about Ashara had helped him approach the issue of his and Catelyn’s current situation with oldest son. Robb was also almost eighteen, and the other children looking at him expectantly now were fifteen, thirteen, and eleven. “Kids . . .” he said.

“Your father and I don’t want to fight anymore,” Catelyn said suddenly. “We don’t like hurting each other and we especially don’t like hurting you. We’ve tried much harder to listen to each other since we’ve been here, and I think we understand each other a bit better now.”

“What didn’t you understand?” Bran asked.

“Oh, Bran, that’s a lot bigger answer than I even know how to give right now. Just know that whatever has happened and whatever happens from here, your father and I do love each other, and we both love all of you more than you could ever imagine.”

“Whatever happens? You mean you might not get divorced now?” Hope and excitement infused Arya’s voice.

“They’re listening to each other,” Robb said. “And they’re trying to move forward.”

“That’s right, Robb,” Ned said softly. “I wish I could promise you that everything will turn out the way you want, but . . .”

“But sometimes you can’t honestly see where you’re going to end up when you first start moving forward,” Catelyn said. “Be patient with us, children. It isn’t fair of us to ask it of you after we’ve already hurt you, but we need some time to sort some things out. And then we can give you better answers.”

“That’s the best answer you’ve given us in a long time,” Arya said, grinning. 

Catelyn sighed. “Just please don’t get . . .”

“Found it!” Rickon shouted, running back into the great room, waving Catelyn’s stocking like a flag. “It did drop in the box! Here it is, Mommy! Jon’s getting the tack!”

Jon appeared then, and within moments, Catelyn’s stocking hung from the mantel beside Ned’s. 

“Hey!” Bran said. “We’ve only got about an hour or so until we have to get to bed. Who wants to have a pool tournament?”

“I’m sure the dishwasher has stopped by now,” Catelyn said. “I’m going to go unload it.”

“Hey! The cook shouldn’t do the cleaning,” Ned protested.

“Then come help me,” she told him, “And we’ll get it finished more quickly.”

All of the children except Rickon enthusiastically pushed that idea, and Ned knew perfectly well they just wanted to get him and Catelyn alone together. He could practically see the wheels spinning in their heads. It was equally obvious to him that Catelyn had intentionally endeavored to get the two of them alone, and that caused him as much trepidation as joy as he wondered what she might wish to talk about. Once she convinced Rickon that she really couldn’t play pool just then but that he should go on with his brothers and sisters, and then gave all the older kids a look that clearly said they were to include and be nice to him, Ned followed her to the kitchen, his trepidation increasing with her silence.

“Cat?” he asked once they arrived at the kitchen. 

“Let’s go look at the Santa gifts, Ned. I want to make certain everything’s there.”

“What? You don’t think I can follow a list? And what exactly do you plan to do if something isn’t there?” He knew he sounded irritated, but he didn’t like the insinuation that he’d let their kids down on Christmas.

She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. That sounded . . . awful. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just . . . this is the first year I haven’t shopped for their Santa gifts, and I won’t be setting them up tonight because Rickon sleeps with me so . . . I don’t know. I thought taking inventory might make me feel a bit more part of it . . . or something.”

“Cat,” he said, reaching out for her. She came into his arms without hesitation, and he simply held her for a moment. He’d thought he understood what it cost her to give Christmas Eve to him and he’d been grateful to her, but he hadn’t really understood at all. And he should have. Christmas had always been her thing. She loved everything about it. He loved it because of her. Because of what she made of it for him and for their children. When she’d made the Santa list and offered to help him get the things on it, she hadn’t been questioning his competence, she’d been trying to be a part of her children’s Christmas. He’d just been too angry and stubborn to see it.

“I’m sorry I’m such a mess,” she whispered against his chest.

“You aren’t a mess. Come on. Let’s go to Santa’s secret spot.”

She laughed then. “Did you show Jon?”

He nodded. “I had to do that or carry everything in and hide it by myself. I kept his stuff out of his sight, though.”

“Well, Robb knows where it is by now, too, then,” she said with another laugh.

“I swore Jon to secrecy,” Ned told her.

“And he’ll keep it a secret. From everyone except Robb. Those two can’t keep secrets from each other to save their lives. Arya can’t keep secrets from Jon either, but Jon will keep some things secret from Arya simply because of her age, so I doubt he’ll tell her. He knows her too well. She’d be down there snooping in a heartbeat.”

Ned laughed. “I suppose all of that is true. Come on, before one of them comes looking for us.”

Winterfell’s basement, much of which was a wine cellar at some point in the past, was a cavernous space partially filled with boxes and old furniture, but what very few people noticed unless they bothered to take measurements was that it was quite a bit smaller than the floor above. Now that could have been simply because no one needed a basement as large as the historic old home, but an extremely observant girl who liked finding out secrets had managed to deduce that the south wall wasn’t actually the end of the basement at all. Twelve year old Lyanna Stark had discovered a hidden door in that wall which neither her father nor grandfather had known anything about. It had been rather disappointing to Ned and his siblings to find the fairly sizable secret room entirely empty instead of filled with some sort of exotic treasures, but it made an excellent place to hide Christmas presents from six annoyingly smart and inquisitive children.

Ned and Catelyn both could quickly find just the right place to press to get the door to spring open after years of using this place as Santa’s headquarters. Ned had assembled bikes here and built forts and even put together an aggravatingly complicated to assemble foosball table one year. Now the two of them blinked in the sudden brightness as Catelyn’s hand found the switch on the big battery operated lantern they kept in here before Ned shut the door behind them. 

They didn’t speak for a few moments as she wandered among the pile of gifts. “At least, they don’t ask for much that need assembled anymore,” she said quietly. “It’s electronics and clothes for the older ones mostly. I see you’ve got Bran’s telescope together.”

“Jon did that,” Ned said. “He was pretty excited about it, really.”

“I don’t see his boots.”

“They’re in our bedroom in your closet. I told you I kept his stuff hidden. I couldn’t imagine him getting into your closet for anything so I stashed his stuff there, and he could come down here and work on the telescope and on that Pop-a-Shot game of Rickon’s without my having to watch over him.” He motioned toward a rather large basketball shooting arcade type game that lay in a corner, mostly assembled, but still in three pieces that he could get from here from the great room and then hopefully finish assembling without too much difficulty.

“No,” she said sort of sadly. “Jon wouldn’t dream of going into my closet. The boots will be a complete surprise, you know. He never asked for them. I found the ad tucked under the mirror in his bedroom after you two left and asked Arya about them. She said he wanted them desperately, but figured it would take months on what he could save from his part time job to get enough to buy them, and he thought they were too expensive to request for Christmas.”

“Did you tell Arya he’s getting them?”

“Of course not. I just told you she can’t keep secrets from him.” She looked around and smiled. “You’ve done a great job, Ned. I never should have doubted you.”

“Did you doubt me?” he asked her.

“Not really. I just . . . well, I guess in a terrible sort of way, at one point I almost hope you’d call and say that you couldn’t find something just so I could feel needed.”

“I did need you, Cat. To be honest, I never would have pulled this off if Ashara hadn’t . . .”

He could have ripped his tongue right out of his head. He’d only meant to assure her that he couldn’t possibly do everything the kids needed without her and instead he’d just blurted out that Ashara Dayne had helped buy their children’s Christmas presents. “Damn,” he muttered under his breath.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.” Her voice had slipped into her lady of the manor tone for the first time all day, and it killed him to hear it. “She cooks for my children and makes Rickon brush his teeth. Why shouldn’t she buy their Christmas presents, too?”

“That’s not . . . dammit, Cat. She didn’t buy anything, and we never went shopping for the kids together. She taught me to use Amazon. That’s all. I was feeling overwhelmed and getting ready to trek all over town looking for all this stuff, and she laughed at me and told me I seriously needed to discover on-line shopping. She helped me set up an Amazon account, and I found all the kids’ presents without leaving my desk. It was like magic.”

Catelyn nodded slowly, still with no expression on her face. “How lovely for you. To have such a helpful companion when you were feeling overwhelmed.”

“Cat, please don’t do this. I’ll tell you anything you want to know, but please . . . just talk to me. Don’t . . . don’t shut me out.”

“You’ll tell me anything?” Her voice betrayed a bit more emotion and less control now. “Okay, then. What did you get her for Christmas?”

“What?” Ned hadn’t expected that at all.

“Oh, come on, Ned. The woman’s been your rock. Your dearest friend in your time of need. You intended for her to come to Winterfell for Christmas, for God’s sake! I know you didn’t plan on her watching you and the kids open gifts without at least one to open for herself. You’re more thoughtful than that.”

“Catelyn, I . . .”

“What did you get her for Christmas, Ned?”

“A scarf! I got her a scarf. Don’t ask me what brand because I don’t know. It’s a purple-blue color. I know she likes to wear things that bring out that purple tint in her eyes so I bought it.” He was babbling, and he knew it. He was saying far too much. He didn’t need to talk about Ashara’s damn eyes. 

“Can I see it?”

“Jesus, Catelyn! Why are you doing this?”

“I’m just asking questions. You said I could ask questions.” Her voice was still much too tightly controlled, but he could see the pain and the anger on her face plainly enough. He’d been prepared to start at the beginning, to explain everything with Ashara, but starting like this was all wrong. It made everything worse.

“It isn’t here, Cat. And no, I’m not hiding anything. Once I told her I’d decided it wasn’t a good idea for her to come after all, that I thought it needed to just be the kids and me, there was no point in bringing it.”

“Ah, so you’ll go back to King’s Landing Christmas Day and celebrate with her then.”

“No! I’m not going back until after New Year’s! I need some time away from there. Away from work. Away from all of it. I decided that even before I told her not to come. She was going back to King’s Landing when the kids left, but I was staying here.”

“Alone?” she asked as if she couldn’t believe it.

“Yes!” he nearly shouted. Then he took a few deep breaths. “Except for Jon. And I intended to see if Jon and Robb wanted to go to the ski cabin for a few days after you finished your celebration at Riverrun. Catelyn, I’ve been alone since I left you. Whether I’m with Jon or Ashara or Robert or our kids or the people at work . . . I’m alone. I’m . . . empty. And no matter who I’m with or what I do, I can’t shake that feeling. It scares the hell out of me to truly be by myself because the presence of other people at least reminds me I exist. That I need to exist. For the children, if for no other reason. When I’m truly alone, I feel like I might just disappear, and I knew I couldn’t keep living that way. I had to figure out some way to live with myself. To live by myself. And that was my plan for this Christmas.”

She was silent for a long time. “I guess the snowstorm and my uninvited presence here put a wrench in those plans.”

“Your presence here woke me the hell up. Cat . . . I feel like I’ve been asleep, like I’ve been drugging myself to keep from opening my eyes and seeing the truth. The things I’ve told you—I’ve meant every word of it. I have made one mistake after another and I’ve dug myself into deeper holes when all I ever really needed was to reach for you. Lying in that damn bed this afternoon just sleeping beside you, I felt more like myself than I have since I walked out of our house. We’re real, Cat. I can’t be everything to you and you can’t be everything to me, and we sure as hell can’t ever be perfect. But we’ve got something that’s better and more real than most people even dream about. And I threw it away. For no damn good reason, I threw it away. And I will regret that until the day I die. But if you give me another chance, give us another chance, I swear to you I will never take you or what we have for granted.”

“We both took too many things for granted, Ned,” she said sadly. “And now it’s Christmas Eve, and I’m standing in the middle of my children’s Christmas gifts with my husband whom I love more than my own life and I just feel broken. And do you want to know something really stupid? After everything we’ve gone through, with everything I have to be angry or sad or scared about, I’m feeling most broken over the fact that it’s Christmas Eve, and you have no present for me but you do have one for another woman.” Tears were falling down her cheeks, but she actually started to laugh. “And that’s so stupid. I didn’t buy you a present, either. We’re divorced! Why should we buy each other presents? I thought I was okay with that. But God it hurts so much that you bought a gift for her, and that’s so unfair of me, and I just . . . I feel stupid, Ned. And I don’t know what to say.”

“Then don’t say anything, Cat. Just let me answer your question.”

“What question?” she asked hollowly.

“Why Ashara? Why, of all people, did I go to her?”

She actually let out a sob at that, and he knew he was right. She couldn’t let this go because she didn’t understand it. She couldn’t even begin to forgive him when she didn’t have a clue what he’d actually done. Some of what he had to say would hurt her, and she’d likely feel betrayed, but he couldn’t let her go on simply wondering, afraid to ask the question because she feared the answers.

“Do you want me to answer that question for you, Cat?”

“No,” she whispered. “Not really. But I need you to.”

“Come sit down,” he said. They’d been standing there too long, and he felt as if he might fall down if he didn’t sit. He couldn’t imagine that she felt any better. Years ago, they’d dragged some old chairs in here, and he led her to two of them.

Once they were seated, he began. “I am not in love with Ashara Dayne. I have not had sex with her or even wanted to have sex with her since before I knew you. I’ve told you that, and it’s the truth. I hadn’t even had a conversation with her other than in passing for years—usually, I was with you when I ran into her. Hell, I had no idea she even lived as close to us as she does.”

“Seven point five miles.”

“What?”

“That’s how far her apartment is from our house. I drove there once. After I found out you’d stayed there when you left. Your car wasn’t there the night I went. You had your own place by then, but I thought maybe you still stayed over sometimes. I wondered how many times you’d driven the 7.5 miles from our house to be with her before you left me.” She hadn’t been looking at him as she said that, but she turned to look at him as she said, “I wondered a lot of terrible things. It was a very bad night. I had those every so often. Anyway, I didn’t stay long. Didn’t even get out of my car. And I never went back. I wanted to, on a few other bad nights—to go there and look for your car. But I’m not a stalker. I kept telling myself that, and it kept me from going back.”

“Cat . . . I didn’t know. I . . . Fuck, I am so sorry that I ever . . .”

“Go back to answering the question, Ned. You had no idea she lived 7.5 miles away, you said.”

“No, I didn’t. Not until the end of June. The day after our anniversary.”

“Ah.”

He knew she remembered their anniversary as well as he did. Not that either of them probably wanted to. She’d known the truth for around a month. Things were incredibly tense between them. The kids were all freaked out, and everyone’s nerves were on edge. And the kids had gotten them reservations at one of their favorite restaurants as a gift, and even though they were barely speaking, they’d felt they had to go. It hadn’t gone well, ending with her running out in tears and taking a cab home and him going out to a bar where he’d gotten too drunk to drive himself home for the first time in his life.

“You remember how I came home drunk without the car that night?”

“It’s kind of hard to forget. You were barely coherent, and you managed to wake up all the children except Rickon. It was a quite a night.”

“I didn’t take a cab home. I thought I did, but that’s only because I couldn’t remember and couldn’t imagine any other way I’d have gotten home. The next day I found out differently. You called my office to tell them I was sick because I’m sure you knew I probably wouldn’t even be sober until lunch time, and even then in no condition to work. Remember?”

“Yes.” The one word answer was clipped and angry. God, he hated making her remember that night. It was the worst one until the fight when he left. He’d felt so guilty afterward and she’d been so shocked by his wildly out of character binge drunk that they’d actually tip-toed around their problems for awhile and had two or three relatively peaceful weeks.

“That afternoon, Bran had two soccer games, and of course, I was in no shape to go, so you went without me. That’s when Ashara called me.”

“Called you?”

“She’d been at the bar the night before. She wasn’t there when I got there. I don’t remember her presence at all. But she brought me home that night.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you were livid with me over being that drunk in the first place. Because I knew you’d ask me a bunch of questions and I wouldn’t be able to answer them. Because I was too damn hungover to deal with it. And because when she called, she asked me to come over to her place and pick up my wallet which I’d apparently left there. I didn’t even know I’d been there. I had to admit to her on the phone that I didn’t have my car back yet and that I didn’t know where she lived. She thought it hilarious. I didn’t.”

“I can’t say that I do, either. You went home with another woman on our anniversary?”

“Nothing happened, Cat.”

“How do you know? You can’t remember anything.”

“I was too damn drunk to do anything, and it seems I made it pretty clear to everyone in the bar that I wanted to go home to my wife. Ashara said I was shouting about it when she got there, and the bartender was debating whether to call a cab or the cops so she told them she was a friend of mine and I managed to call her by name which convinced the bartender she was on the level, and he poured me into her car. Only she took me to her place to see if she could sober me up first, but I passed out on her couch while she made coffee and it took her two hours to get me awake enough to stumble back to her car with her assistance.”

“Why didn’t she come to the door with you? My god, you nearly killed yourself trying to get the damn door open, and by the time I got there to let you in, there was no car around, Ned.”

“She didn’t think you’d appreciate hearing that your husband had been passed out drunk in his ex-lover’s apartment. Anyway, I guess she’d gotten my cell number from me at some point because she called that next day. And after you all got home from Bran’s soccer games, I told you I was taking a cab to go get my car, and you offered to drive, and I said no—it was my mess, and I had to clean it up.”

“I remember that. At the time, I thought it was at least good that you were stating that clearly for the older boys to hear. I didn’t realize you were lying to me again.”

“I wasn’t lying about the cab. Or about getting my car. But once I got the car, I drove to Ashara’s to get my wallet and get some information from her on what had happened the previous night. And she told me that she wasn’t going to pry into my business, but that getting black-out drunk was hardly my style so she knew something was really bothering me. She reminded me that we’d been friends a long time and that even though we’d gone our separate ways, it seemed we weren’t all that far apart. She hadn’t realized how close we lived until then, either. And she told me if I needed a friend—an ear to bend or a shoulder to cry on, to call her.”

“And you did.”

“I did.”

“Before you left in August.”

“Yes.”

“When you’d leave the house to ‘take a drive and cool down,’ how often did you go see her instead?”

“Probably at least half the time.” He shook his head. “Ashara doesn’t ask questions. She never has. Honestly, I don’t think she’s that interested in people’s deepest thoughts. She doesn’t give advice either. But she listens if you want to talk. And talks about herself or something else if you just want distracted. Drinks if you want to drink. And tries to make you laugh if you need cheered up.”

“And that’s what you need in a woman?”

“No. She’s a good person, Cat. And she does care about her friends and her family. But she’s . . . superficial in some ways. That sounds mean, and I don’t intend it that way. It’s just that she’s content to live on the surface of things. If she had a creed, it would be ‘keep it simple’ or something like that. She’s never loved anyone the way I love you or you love me or the way we love our children. She’s happy with that. I never could be. We realized that a long time ago. You are what I need in a woman. In a wife. In a best friend, life partner—you’re everything. But . . . we were so far apart and it was killing me. And I couldn’t talk about it with anyone. I obviously couldn’t explain what we were arguing about, and I could never complain about you or our marriage to any of our friends. You and the children are my only family. I just . . . needed a friend. Someone who was my friend instead of our friend. And that was selfish of me. I know you don’t have any friends in King’s Landing who don’t at least know me. But we’ve already established I’ve been damn selfish for a long time, Cat.”

“So you talked to her about me.” There was a definite accusation in her voice. Ned had known she’d see that as a betrayal.

“Yes. But not the way you’re thinking. Mostly I talked about how much I loved you. How frustrated I was that we couldn’t just get past this. And, of course I didn’t tell her what ‘this’ was. Just that I’d lied to you about something for a very long time and that you’d found out about it. I told her I couldn’t say more, and she never asked.”

“So when you left that last day, you went straight to her?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t know where the hell to go. I thought about getting a hotel room, but Jon had school and I had to figure out meals and homework and my work schedule, and I wasn’t thinking all that clearly, and I just drove around for the longest time. I think poor Jon thought I’d lost my mind. And she called me during that time. I’m not sure why. She’d call sometimes, but not very often. Anyway, I told her I’d left the house and didn’t think I could go back for awhile, and she told me to come over, and I told her I had Jon, and she said bring him. So I did. And she said we could stay there while I figured stuff out. And she’d make breakfast in the mornings, and I thought that was good for Jon, and she was there earlier than I was on days when I worked late, and he didn’t have to be all by himself, and it just sort of dragged on. And you never called.”

“I told you that I . . .”

“Wanted me to call you. I know. And I should have. I was the one who walked out. But we both kept waiting on a call that never came, and I realized I might not be going home for a long time, and I couldn’t just keep camping out at Ashara’s with my teenaged son. And I missed the kids. I missed you, but I tried not to think about that. So I looked at rental properties and found one that worked reasonably well for the kids’ schools, and that was that.”

“And she started coming to your place rather than you going to hers.”

“She wanted to help. She’d come make dinner sometimes, and she did a couple loads of laundry after I managed to dye a lot of white things pink. Jon took that over pretty quickly though. He’s been really amazing through all this, Cat.” He shook his head. “And he tried to tell me I was letting Ashara get too close. He knew I wasn’t involved with her. He lives with me. He knows more about what a damn mess I’ve been than anyone, poor kid. But I felt like I needed her. Once we ironed out the visitation schedule with the kids, I felt like I had to make that stupid rented house feel like a home and that I wasn’t capable of doing that without help. And she was more than willing to help. She never crossed over the friendship line except once, though.”

“Go on.” She’d been remarkably calm throughout his entire recounting of events. Ned couldn’t remember a conversation in which he had said so much and she had said so little, but he could see the emotions just beneath the surface.

“It was after I filed for divorce.” He said the entire sentence without pausing or taking a breath because it was so incredibly hard to say. “I went to the attorney’s office on that Friday because I knew Jon was staying with friends, and the other kids were with you. I didn’t go to work at all. I met with the attorney, told him what I wanted to do, told him I didn’t give a damn about money or the house or anything, that I wanted joint custody of the kids legally, but they should live primarily with you because you were the better parent and I’d pay whatever child support you needed. He tried to get me to specify all kinds of things that didn’t seem to matter. I just wanted to be out of there and not talk about it anymore. Finally, he had a bunch of papers typed up, and I signed my name in all the places he pointed to, and he told me he’d file it at the courthouse that afternoon and be in touch when you responded. I walked out of his office into the restroom and threw up. Then I went back to my rented house and got very drunk.”

“Ned . . .”

He held up a hand to silence her. “I wasn’t as drunk as the night she brought me home from the bar. I remember this night. I called her. I don’t even know why, but I called her, and she came over. And when she did, I cried. I actually fucking cried. Real tears and ugly sobs. I hadn’t done that since Ben died. And she held onto me the way you’d held onto me then, and I kept thinking that I wanted you to hold onto me. I think I even told her to go get you. I’d just filed to divorce you and I was drunk crying and asking her to get you for me. It was . . . awful. I don’t know what else to call it.” He took a deep breath. “She stayed the night because she was worried about me.” He looked at Catelyn carefully and added, “On the couch. I was in my bed. Woke up terribly hungover and she tried to take care of me, and I kept telling her to go home. And she said to me, ‘I know you’re still in love with her, and I can’t keep you from being sad about that. But you don’t have to be alone when you’re sad if you don’t want to be.’ And she kissed me. Right on the lips. And I was so stunned, I didn’t even stop her. I just . . . stood there. But I wasn’t kissing her back, and after a minute she backed off and said, ‘It was worth a try.’ And I told her that I’d love her forever for all she’d done for me and the kids, but it would never be like that. And I thought she understood. She never mentioned it again.”

“The Baratheon Christmas party.” She didn’t give any context. She simply said those fourwords, and Ned sighed.

“I was drunk again. Being there without you. Having everyone ask about you. It was torture.”

“Having a date didn’t help?”

“I didn’t have a date,” he sighed. He held up his hands as she started to protest. “I know you’ve seen the picture. Arya told me Cersei sent it to you. How she got it, I’d like to know. But Ashara wasn’t even at the party. I was too drunk to drive home . . . for the second time in my life, and Robert called her. He knew I’d stayed with her when I first left the house and that she’d been helping out with the kids. It seems he thought we were . . . well, you know how Robert thinks. Anyway, he called her to come take me home, and she was helping me out when that picture was taken. I’ve got my arms around her because I couldn’t balance myself enough to walk. Why she put her head on my shoulder and smiled for the camera, I don’t know. Or I don’t want to know. She thought it was funny. Actually showed the picture to Jon herself which embarrassed me quite a lot. I only found out about Cersei sending it to you after you got here.”

“She was drunk texting. Wanted me to know that all men were the same. That deep inside, my uptight husband simply wanted to fuck other women just like her asshole ex and I should use that picture to help me take everything you have.”

“Jesus, Cat. I’m sorry. I never wanted you to see that. I never wanted to see it. Robert told me he’d delete it after I called him and told him it wasn’t funny and that Ashara was not my mistress.”

“But you did ask her to share Christmas with our children. In your family home.” She didn’t sound angry so much as she sounded exhausted and empty.

“No. I asked her to come to Winterfell and help me decorate and to cook for my children. Which sounds really awful, I know. I’d gotten myself so convinced that having the kids taken care of by someone better at it than I am was the best way to make this better for them that I wasn’t giving them myself which was what they really wanted. And I felt so badly about asking Ashara to essentially play cook and nanny that I started spending more time with her away from the kids in an effort to make her feel appreciated as a friend instead of some sort of free household help, and that probably just gave the wrong impression to everyone, including her. I . . . I haven’t handled anything well since I left you, Cat. I haven’t handled anything well since you learned the truth about Jon and I started focusing on everything _except_ just telling you how wrong I was and asking your forgiveness. I didn’t want Ashara in Winterfell because I care for her. I wanted her here because I’m afraid of my own children and I thought I needed help to give them a Christmas. I bought her that damn scarf as a thank you the same way you buy the kid who feeds and walks the dogs when we go on vacation a gift, and she deserves better than any of that. I’ve been unfair to her.”

“Objectively speaking, I suppose you have. Forgive me, however, if I can’t be quite that objective about a woman who kissed my husband.”

“That’s what you’re thinking about? Out of this entire tale which contains any number of reasons for you to be rightfully furious with me, you’re upset about her kissing me?”

“Oh, I am furious with you. And given enough time, I’ll probably spend some time being specifically angry over a lot of things you’ve just told me—keeping your friendship a secret from me, trying to give our children some sort of pathetic mommy substitute instead of just being their father, getting falling down drunk repeatedly—my god, Ned, you’ve never used alcohol to handle your problems! And most especially turning to this woman from your past for comfort when things got hard between us instead of working at bridging the gap between us. That one is hard to take, Ned, I won’t lie. That hurts.”

“I never . . .”

“Slept with her. I know. I believe you. But there’s more to comfort and intimacy than sex, Ned. And every time that we hurt each other, and you went to her to make yourself feel better and kept it a secret from me, that’s a betrayal. And I need you to see that.”

“Cat, I’m looking at you right now. I can’t possibly look at the hurt on your face and not see that. And I’m sorry.”

“You can’t spend any more time with her, Ned. I know you consider her a friend, but this relationship is not okay. Not for you. Not for her. And certainly not for me.”

“For you. So you’re saying you still care what I do? Even after I’ve told you all this?”

“I’m sitting here seeing red because that damn woman kissed you, Ned. Of course, I still care what you do!”

Ned carefully kept his expression neutral, but in spite of the many stressful emotions swirling around them at the moment, he was tempted to smile. Upon her arrival to Winterfell, she’d been very adamant about his right to do as he pleased without consulting her except in regard to the children, and now, after he’d spent an entire day confessing to her all the things he was most ashamed of, she was demanding that he cut all ties with Ashara and admitting she was livid over her kissing him. He had to consider that a positive development.

Still, he wanted to make certain of where she stood. “So are we still moving forward, Cat? Is this something we can get past?” He wondered if she heard the fear in his voice.

“Ned, I don’t know if we can get past all or any of this. But I’m not ready to quit trying. And you know me well enough to know you had to answer the question I was afraid to ask. And answer it completely. I’m not giving up on the man who knows me sometimes better than I know myself.”

He sighed with relief and exhaustion. “This is hard, Cat. This is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But I swear it’s also the most important. I’m not giving up on us.”

She smiled a little. “You’ve mentioned that.”

“It bears repeating.”

“It does.” She paused. “What about you? Do you have another question? Something more substantial than asking permission to put your arm around me?”

“With everything I’ve put you through lately, and everything I’ve told you today, I think getting permission to touch you is pretty substantial.” She didn’t laugh or express any disagreement, and something occurred to him. He couldn’t risk having her believe he was keeping secrets from her ever again. “Yes, actually. This is rather specific, so bear with me. If one of our children tells me something in confidence concerning something they’ve seen or overheard which concerned them, and the concerning event is in the past, and there are no lasting consequences or risks to anyone involved, including our child who told me about it, do you consider it wrong for me not to tell you?”

“Well, that’s not only specific, it’s rather convoluted, and I can’t help thinking you’re trying to describe something that’s already happened that you don’t want to tell me about.”

“You’d be right about that.”

“Well, now I want to know what it is.”

“I was asked not to tell you. It truly is taken care of, and our children are all very protective of you right now. They don’t want you to feel bad or worry about them.”

“And your telling me about whatever this is will make me feel bad?”

“It might. You do tend to burden yourself with a lot of responsibility that shouldn’t really be yours when it comes to our children’s feelings.”

“And you’re certain the child is fine? Really certain?”

“Absolutely.” 

“Okay, then. Keep your word if you promised not to tell me. I won’t pretend I like it, but the kids should know they can come to either of us in confidence. Although they have to know that if it’s a matter of their safety or well-being, we share information and work together.”

Ned smiled at her. “I mentioned something of the sort. I also said that if you ever learned anything about this particular instance and asked me specifically about it, I wouldn’t lie. And she was fine with that.”

Catelyn grinned. “She. So it’s Arya.”

“How do you know it’s not Sansa?” he asked, cursing inwardly about his careless use of the pronoun.

“Because Sansa comes to me.”

“Oh, really? You didn’t understand the Lucky Charms reference at dinner, did you?”

“I meant to ask you about that. I know Sansa interrupted Robb because she was afraid he’d say too much.”

“When you all first arrived, after that incident over the wedding portrait in the entryway, Robb, Sansa, and Arya ganged up on me.”

“I heard a bit of that from Sansa.”

“Yes, well, I had been explaining to them that they were mistaken in their assumptions about my relationship with Ashara and telling them why I had asked her to come to Winterfell in the first place—and telling them I’d been wrong.”

“And?”

“And Sansa informed me she didn’t care if I can’t cook. That her preference would be Christmas with both of her parents, but if she can’t have that, she’d take it with either parent and no non-family members, even if it meant she had to eat Lucky Charms and pizza rolls on Christmas Eve.”

Catelyn laughed. “I thought it might be something like that. I’ll admit I’m rather proud of her for telling you how she felt.”

Ned shook his head. “You don’t know the half of it. I told you about Robb yesterday. And Arya! That girl has had a lot to say to me.”

“Including whatever it is you can’t tell me,” Catelyn said smugly.

“You don’t know that it’s Arya!” Ned protested.

“Yes I do. I know my children.” She grinned. “And I can read your face, Ned Stark. It’s definitely Arya. Don’t worry, I won’t tell her I know you two have a secret.”

“Um, are you two in there?” came a rather loud stage whisper from outside the door.

“Yes, Jon, and I know you can hear us so just come in,” Ned said.

The door opened and Jon stepped through looking down. “I just . . . I didn’t want to interrupt anything or . . .”

“For the love of God! We didn’t sneak down here to fool around, Jon. We could find far more comfortable places if that was our intent.”

“Ned! Don’t embarrass the poor boy! What do you need, Jon?”

“Everybody’s looking for you. I volunteered to check the basement and Robb said he’d keep everybody else safely upstairs.”

“Told you,” Catelyn said, giving Ned a meaningful look.

He rolled his eyes as Jon looked between the two of them in confusion.

“Anyway, you’ve got to come back upstairs. It’s almost time to get Rickon to bed.”

“All right, I’ll get ready . . .”

“He’s gonna sleep in Robb’s room,” Jon interrupted Catelyn.

“What?”

“We all are actually. Robb, Bran, Rickon and me. Robb’s room is the biggest, so . . .” He shrugged. “We told him the girls had a sleepover the first night here and tonight the boys get one.”

“Why, Jon?” Catelyn asked him.

He shrugged again. “I thought you might want to play Santa . . . since you’re here and all. I mean, you and Dad do it every year.”

She smiled at him. “Thank you, Jon.” Then she looked at Ned. “We’d better go start the goodnight process.”

“Oh!” Jon said, as they started up the stairs. “I didn’t tell them the dishes were all still in the dishwasher either.” He grinned at the two of them, and Ned shook his head. His children were definitely trying to manage Cat and him. 

“There you are!” Arya exclaimed when they followed Jon into the great room. She looked at Jon. “They were actually in the basement? There’s nothing down there!”

“There’s actually quite a lot of stuff down there, Arya,” Catelyn said calmly.

“I meant there’s no Christmas presents,” Arya said, rolling her eyes. Then she looked mildly guilty. “Bran and I kind of looked for them.”

“Hey! Leave me out of this!” Bran protested at the same time Rickon said, “Our presents from Dad were under the tree when we got here, Arya. You didn’t have to look for them. And we get more from Mom when we go to Grandpa’s because they didn’t get us presents together this time, remember?”

Now Arya looked truly guilty. Making even an obscure reference to Santa Claus presents being stashed somewhere in the house in front of a believer was a major Christmas no-no. All of the kids had always considered maintaining belief in Santa Claus for younger siblings, cousins, or even strangers pretty much a sacred duty. “Uh, yeah, Rick. I guess I kind forgot about that. I just got into the habit of searching the house for presents when I was little and we all got here before they were already under the tree.”

Rickon shook his head and patted Arya in the same manner the older kids patted him when they had to explain something that should be obvious, and Ned tried very hard to stifle a laugh and saw Catelyn cover her mouth with her hand and look down a moment before saying, “I had promised Edmure to lend him some old picture albums I have from when your Grandmother Minisa was alive so he can make copies of pictures. I can’t find them in King’s Landing and thought I might have put them with all the old albums in the basement here. But they aren’t here. I’ll just have to look again at home.”

As always, Ned found himself amazed by the ease at which his incredibly honest wife whose face tended to show every emotion she felt could both come up with a completely plausible lie and sell it so perfectly if a situation demanded it. She’d told him that once that sticking as close to the truth as possible was the secret, and he had no doubt that Ed had asked for photo albums which she likely already had packed away to take to Riverrun.

“But now,” she continued, “The only presents any of us need to be concerned about are from Santa Claus, and I’m afraid he might fly right over Winterfell if we don’t get to bed.”

“Cookies and milk!” Rickon proclaimed. “We gotta put his Christmas cookies by the fireplace.” He looked toward the fireplace then, “And put that fire out!” he added.

“Daddy will put out the fire. He’s the last one to bed. Now come on to the kitchen with me and we’ll get the cookies.”

After the two of them left the room, Ned looked at the rest of his children and muttered, “I hate milk,” which made them all laugh. “I messed up with you kids years ago,” he said conspiratorially in little more than a whisper. “Robert Baratheon told me when Robb and Jon were about ten that he’d always told his kids Santa needed a little bourbon to wet his whistle, but it was much too late to change the milk routine here.”

They all laughed even louder at that, and then Sansa said, “Since Rickon is sleeping with all the boys, I put Mom’s things in the guest bedroom. Or she can come in and share with me again.” She looked carefully at Ned. “Or just whatever she wants.”

“That’s very kind of you, Sansa,” Ned said neutrally. 

Catelyn and Rickon came back with a small cup of milk and two iced sugar cookies (Ned’s favorite variety) on a saucer, and Ned smiled as his youngest placed them carefully on the hearth. Then with hugs and kisses all around, the children went upstairs with Rickon whispering loudly about how he was going to stay awake and spy on Santa when he arrived like that man in _‘Twas the Night Before Christmas._

Ned laughed as he listened to him, but then turned to see that Catelyn’s face had paled and she looked upset. “Cat? What is it?”

She shook her head and silently watched the children until they’d all disappeared into bedroom doors upstairs. “Rickon spying on Santa,” she said sadly.

“He’ll be fast asleep in fifteen minutes like he always is. You know he won’t catch us.”

“I know. That’s not it. It’s . . .” She’d still been looking upward to where the children had gone, but now she turned to look at him. “Ned, when we first got here, Rickon had sort of meltdown in the car. It’s what kept us outside longer than the other kids. He realized it was Friday and started yelling that he didn’t want her to be here and he didn’t want me to leave. When I got him calmed down, he told me he was going to stay awake Christmas Eve and ask Santa to make you and Jon come home.”

“Oh, Cat,” Ned said softly. “I’m sorry.”

“I know. We’re both sorry. But they’re still hurting. And now they’re all . . . Arya practically suggested I sleep with you when she hugged me goodnight. Told me that bed is way more comfortable than the one in the guest room!”

“Well, to be fair, you did say pretty much the same thing this afternoon.”

“She’s thirteen! She shouldn’t be concerning herself with . . .” She waved her hands in front of her as if to push that entire topic away from her mind. “It’s just hard to see them so happy and hopeful when nothing is certain yet. I don’t want to disappoint them.” She moved closer to him and lay her head against his chest. “I’m scared, Ned,” she admitted in little more than a whisper. “And not just for the children. I keep finding myself as hopeful as they are, and I just can’t . . . I don’t know if I can stand going through this again.”

He put his arms around her and held her to him. “Two days ago, I got out of bed believing, as I’d believed for weeks, that our marriage was over. And in spite of the children whom I love dearly and all the wonderful things I have in this world, I felt like my life was pretty much over as well—that my heart had been cut right out of me. Now I know that legally, our marriage is over, and that tears me apart, Cat. I hate it. Yet, I’m standing here by this ridiculously large Christmas tree with you in my arms telling me you’re hopeful, and that makes this the best moment I’ve had since May. I’m holding onto that feeling as tightly as I’m holding on to you right now.”

She looked up at him. “I also told you I’m scared.”

“I’m scared, too. But you’re worth any risk. And I know you’re brave enough to do this so I can be brave enough, too. For you.”

“I do love you, Ned.”

He smiled at her. “I know.”

She laughed then, and he smiled to see it. “You always manage to give that line back to me at the best times!”

He grinned more widely. “Princess Leia is my hero.”

She punched his arm. “Let’s go get the wine.”

They always each sipped a glass of wine slowly after sending the kids to bed on Christmas Eve, giving all of them time to fall asleep before they started dragging things up from Santa’s secret room. Tonight they didn’t speak much as they sipped their wine, each lost in their own thoughts, but she did sit beside him on the sofa, leaning against him with his arm around her shoulder as they watched the fire and looked at the tree. Occasionally, one of them would remark upon an ornament and smile at its particular history. They had accumulated quite a collection through the years.

Finally, Catelyn leaned her head back and held her wine glass above her open mouth upside down rather dramatically to show that it was too empty to even drip, and Ned laughed. “I guess it’s time then.” 

“Yep,” she said, and they pulled each other off the couch, set the glasses by the wine bottle and began the first of many trips down into the basement and back. It didn’t take nearly as long as it had years ago as displaying clothes and shoes and music speakers and posters and books and video games and such items was far less complicated than setting up multiple doll houses or racetracks or forts. Ned thought he displayed Bran’s telescope nicely, pointing it directly toward the star on top of the tree, and Catelyn made certain that Jon’s boots were front and center, easily visible from the stairs, once Ned tiptoed up to get Jon’s things from the bedroom closet. Rickon’s section took the longest, of course, as he did have some Avengers action figures and toys to set up as well as the Pop-a-Shot which was alarmingly large when they finally got it completely assembled.

“Where exactly are you planning to put that in King’s Landing?” Ned asked Catelyn as they stood there staring at it in all its arcade glory.

“He wants it for his room,” Catelyn mumbled.

“What? Catelyn, that thing is huge!”

“I know,” she said. “But I measured out the dimensions. It will fit. He’ll just lose most of his floor space. And it will look ridiculous. But it’s Rickon’s room, and we’ve always told them their rooms are theirs to decorate as they choose.”

They turned to look at each other. “Within reason,” they said at the same time, laughing at the thought of some of the truly awful things they’d had to veto through the years. At least the Pop-a-Shot couldn’t be considered offensive by anyone.

“How do we get it to King’s Landing?” he asked her.

“Well, obviously we’ll have to take it at least partially apart again and reassemble,” she sighed. It pleased him immensely that she used the pronoun ‘we’ just as unconsciously as he had. “But it’ll stay here through winter. You know the kids will want to come up at least two or three weekends to go skiing.” She grinned at him. “And it looks lovely in this room.”

He laughed. “I think, my love, that Santa is finished. Cookies and milk, Mrs. Claus?”

Her expression became rather serious quite suddenly, and he realized that he’d given her the same line he always did when they finished up on Christmas Eve, and it just happened to contain his long-favored term of endearment for her as well as referred to her as his ‘Mrs.’

After what seemed a very long moment, she offered him a smile. “Wouldn’t you prefer cookies and wine, Mr. Claus?” 

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding as she gave him the reply she always did. “Oh!” she said then. “The stockings!”

He groaned. “I’ll get it,” he said. “I was lazy and shopped for candy after we got here. Never got it out of the car.”

She laughed at him. “Bundle up, Santa,” she teased. “I’ll take care of this.” She held up the little cup of milk which would be poured down the sink as neither of them drank it other than Catelyn putting a bit in her tea at times. She handed him one of the cookies. “To fortify yourself. I’ll have your wine poured when you get back.”

“Will you warm me up?”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t push your luck, Stark.” She then walked into the kitchen with the cup, and he headed out to get the candy. 

When he returned, she was sitting on the sofa with her wine glass full, and he spied another full glass waiting for him.

“You didn’t even put on a coat, did you?” she asked as he walked over to the stockings and began filling them with goodies.

“It took maybe five minutes to run to the car and back, Cat. I did put on my boots to keep my feet dry. Getting those on and off took longer than anything else.”

“You’re incorrigible. I don’t care how much you love the cold, running around half-naked in the snow in December is not healthy.”

“I’m fully clothed.”

“There’s your other cookie,” she said, nodding to the saucer on the hearth, the now empty cup sitting beside it. “Make sure you leave visible crumbs.”

“You don’t want it?”

With a grin, she held up the last bite of a lemon cake and then popped it into her mouth.

“You’re every bit as bad as Sansa with those things, you know. How is it she’s the only one who gets grief for it?”

“I’m sneakier.”

Stockings filled, Ned grabbed his cookie, crumbled a bit of it onto the saucer, and came to sit beside her. They sat as they had before, close together sipping wine in companionable rather than angry silence.

“You’re sure the fire will be completely out before Rickon wakes?” she asked after a bit.

“I’m sure. It’s dying now.” He smiled at her. “You ask that every year.”

“I know. Old habits die hard, I guess.”

“Some old habits need to die, however hard it is to kill them,” Ned said looking her in the eyes. “However, I’m perfectly fine with your asking for reassurance about that fire going out until our grandchildren are Robb’s age and older.”

“Surely, we’ll be off Santa Claus duty by then!” she exclaimed with a laugh.

“Merry Christmas, Cat.”

“Kiss me.” 

She’d asked that of him earlier, and he’d been more nervous than the first time he’d kissed her. He wanted to kiss every inch of her skin and hold her and make love to her until neither of them could breathe, but he was honestly afraid to do more than kiss her forehead. He’d lost the right to simply assume she was his. There was an unopened letter awaiting him in King’s Landing informing him that she most definitely was not his. But here she was beside him, asking him for a kiss so he touched his lips gently to hers.

“Really kiss me,” she whispered against his lips before pulling him more tightly against her and parting her lips to explore his with her tongue until he opened his own mouth in response, and they were breathing each other in, breathing more heavily, as the kiss became a deepened into an act of incredible need and hunger as much as affection. He loved her. He wanted her. But he didn’t want a repeat of the library.

“Stop,” he managed to gasp, using every ounce of willpower he had to break the contact between their mouths. 

“Stop?” she said as if dazed, and he saw that her pupils had become large and back within the beautiful blue of her irises.

“What do you want, Cat?” he asked her, still not quite able to breathe normally.

“You,” she whispered. “I’ve always wanted you.”

“I don’t want to push you. Or scare you.”

“You’re not pushing me, and I’m already scared. You can’t help that. But I want you.”

“And I want you. I’m never going to stop wanting or loving you. But I need to know what you want right now.”

“You,” she breathed. “Make love to me, Ned.”

“We’re . . . not married anymore,” he said.

She actually laughed. “Thanks, Dad.” Then she took a deep breath and became serious, taking him by the hands. “We made love before we got married,” she reminded him. “Before we were even engaged. Right now, I don’t know what our future holds. I know we still have a long way to go to reach the kind of trust and forgiveness we both need. But I love you, Ned, and I know you love me. And I want to reach for the future with you. I want that with all my heart no matter how scared I am. And I want you with every fiber of heart, soul, and body right now. So how different is tonight from that afternoon in my father’s boathouse? Oh, don’t point out the obvious differences like the six kids and the past twenty years. And I know we have a lot more forgiveness we have to find now, but we also have a lot more knowledge of each other to build on. So let’s just forget the differences for a moment and remember those two young people who were scared to death and didn’t know what the future would bring, but loved each other enough to just hold on to each other and take a chance on finding everything we ever dreamed of. We may be older now, and have a lot more scars, but it seems to me that while we aren’t exactly those two young people anymore, we don’t have to leave them completely behind either. We can still be just Ned and Cat—two people who want to love each other.”

She wasn’t truly crying, but her eyes were bright with tears. “You’re trembling, Cat,” he said, running his hand lightly over her arm.

“I trembled then. I’m was terrified that afternoon and I’m terrified now. For different reasons, obviously, but still—fear is fear. And I was brave enough then to love you in spite of my fear. I want to be that brave again.”

“You’re the bravest person I know.”

“You say that a lot. Let me believe it of myself. Make love to me.”

He looked at her, unable to fathom how in the universe he had been gifted with such a woman in his life. He stood up.

“What are you doing?” she asked, sounding almost panicked as if she feared he might walk away. He wondered if he should. He wondered if it was the wine talking more than her heart, but she’d only had two glasses and Cat had always been a woman who knew her own mind. 

“I’m taking my wife . . . my girlfriend . . . to bed.” He reached down and scooped her up into his arms. She wasn’t quite as thin as she’d been in that boathouse and he certainly wasn’t as young, but he could still lift her easily enough.

“Put me down,” she laughed. 

“I’ll put you down when we get to the bedroom,” he said.

“Ned, no! I mean, I absolutely want you to take me to bed, but I have to put away those wine glasses and you have to get rid of the candy bags!”

He laughed and set her on her feet. “There’s a difference from the boathouse. It was much less complicated without a house full of offspring.”

She carried the wine glasses toward the kitchen and laughed at him while he gathered up all the empty bags from the candy. “Bring those upstairs,” she said. We can stash them in the closet and you can take them out to the trash once the children and I are gone.”

That dropped his mood rather quickly. He couldn’t stand the thought of Catelyn and the children leaving without him on Christmas Day. Upon her return, she saw his expression immediately and quickly surmised the reason.

“You know I have to go, Ned. Let’s enjoy tonight and let tomorrow take care of itself.”

He tried to give her a smile. Keeping with her theme, he said, “As I recall, I had to go back to school the day after we made love in that boathouse because I was starting my internship early, and Hoster kept you at Riverrun until classes officially started back up.”

“Yes,” she said. “That was torture. But we survived.”

“I’m a lot older now. It might kill me.”

She grinned wickedly. “But I know so much better what I’m doing now,” she whispered against his ear before nibbling his earlobe. “Let’s go upstairs and see if I can make your death worth it, at least.”

He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the stairs, and she gave a little shriek. “Don’t you dare wake those children,” he hissed.

She clapped a hand over her mouth and giggled silently as they tried to navigate the stairs both as quickly and silently as possible.

“Hey,” she said, as they reached the door of the master bedroom—their bedroom. “Listen.” 

The cold, clear night air conducted sound very well, and they could just make out the chimes from the Catholic church in the village several miles away.

“It’s midnight,” he whispered and kissed her there on the threshold of the room.

“Merry Christmas, Ned,” she said when their lips finally parted.

“I love you, Cat,” he replied. Then he led her into the bedroom and closed the door behind them, eager to lay the woman he loved down in their bed and show her just how deeply he meant those words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only Christmas Day to go! And since technically December 25th starts at midnight, the next chapter will pick up BEFORE Ned and Cat actually do any sleeping. ;-)


	5. December 25th

The kiss in the doorway had left her slightly breathless, and Catelyn’s heart beat rapidly as Ned closed the door to their bedroom. Yet as they stood there together in the dark, he didn’t pull her to him again right away. “I love you,” he said again, and the soft-spoken words sounded like both a vow and a plea. “I don’t want you to regret this.”

She swallowed, suddenly twenty-one years old again and in the boathouse at Riverrun, behind the shelf where the lifejackets were stacked, lying back on one of the old cushioned lawn chairs she and Lysa sometimes pulled out on the dock in order to lie in the sun in comfort. Her t-shirt and bra had been discarded, but Ned’s hands suddenly stilled over the zipper on the front of her blue shorts. 

_“I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret, Cat.”_

_He was leaving the next day, returning to his apartment near the university a full month before the term started because he had to work. Her father had decreed that she would remain in Riverrun until classes started, and while she was technically an adult, Hoster Tully was paying her tuition and room and board. Her campus housing wouldn’t be open until school was officially back in session and she knew better than to suggest that she could stay at Ned’s, but the thought of not seeing him for an entire month left her feeling almost as if she couldn’t breathe. She’d survive it, she knew. And so would Ned. But she’d never felt this way before in her life. Catelyn had grown up loved by many people and loved them in return, but she had never loved anyone the way she loved Ned Stark. And the only thing in the world she wanted now was to share that love with him in every way she could._

“Cat?” Ned’s voice pulled her once more to the present. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness in the bedroom, and the pale moonlight from the window allowed her to see clearly the questions and concern in his eyes as he searched her face.

Still feeling rather like that girl at Riverrun, she smiled and gave him the same response she’d given him then. “Even if I never see you again after you leave here tomorrow, the only thing I could possibly regret is not making love to you right now.”

He seemed confused by her words for only a second before breathing out a soft chuckle as he recalled when and where she’d spoken those words before. “You’re the one leaving tomorrow this time, Cat, but my response hasn’t changed. I intend to spend the rest of my life making love to you if you’ll have me.”

She kissed him then, softly and slowly at first, but with undeniable need, and he did pull her more tightly against him then. Still, even as her fingers tugged at his shirt to get to the warm flesh beneath it, he stood in place, making no move to lead her toward the bed. They simply stood there in the moonlit room kissing and holding on to each other like a couple of love-drunk kids uncertain quite how they should proceed. Their fingers were far more dexterous at removing each other’s clothing than they had been on that long ago afternoon though, and while there was none of the furiously frantic pushing and pulling and tugging at shirts and pants and underwear as there had been in the library, they soon found themselves standing there entirely naked. 

Ned looked almost surprised by that fact as he drew in his breath and stood back slightly to look at her. She watched his eyes move over every inch of her skin and realized she was shaking.

“You’re trembling, Cat,” he said with concern. “Are you cold?”

“No,” she said softly. She laid her hands on his chest, and he reached around to rest one hand on the small of her back while the other toyed with her hair. “This has always been the warmest room in this house,” she assured him. “You complain about it in the summer.” She laughed then. “You worried about my trembling that afternoon in the boathouse, too, do you remember? And it must have been about eighty degrees in there!”

He didn’t share in her laughter. “I knew you weren’t cold then,” he said rather gravely. “You were nervous. And scared.” He swallowed and then looked intently into her eyes. “Are you scared now, Cat?”

She bit her lip and then moved away from him to sit on the edge of the bed. He stood where he was, waiting for her to speak.

“I was scared then,” she said. “Not of you. Of course, I was nervous. I’d never . . . I’d waited so long and I wanted it so much and I was afraid of not . . . doing it right?” She laughed and shook her head. “After all your patience and understanding, I . . . I didn’t want to be bad at it.”

He was on his knees in front of her more quickly than she’d have thought he could move. “Bad at it?” he laughed, looking up at her face incredulously. “Catelyn, that was the most amazing experience of my life up to that point. I worried about hurting you, but otherwise . . . Cat, making love to you—having you make love to me—it was wonderful the very first time. And it’s only gotten better. You know that.” His smile made her heart flip.

“I do,” she said, reaching out to take his hand. But then she took a deep breath, wanting to find the right words now. “Those were the anxieties of an inexperienced girl, and they’ve long since vanished. But that wasn’t the reason I trembled before we made love in the boathouse, Ned.” She took his hand and pulled him up to sit beside her. “I loved you, Ned. I’d never felt anything like I felt for you, and it was exhilarating and terrifying all at once. And I wanted to . . . give myself to you. I don’t mean sex . . . or not just sex, anyway. I wanted to share everything with you—my body, my heart, my thoughts, my dreams—all of it. And trust you with all of it. And I believed that you wanted to do the same with me.” She bit her lip again.

“Cat, I did. I do. I . . .”

“I know that,” she said quickly. “Ned, I know you want that as much as I do. And I knew it then. But even with both of us wanting it, that was a pretty big leap to take. We were so young. We had no idea what the future would bring. And I’ve always been someone who needs to know. I plan. I consider consequences. I weigh options and worry about all the possible outcomes. You know that about me. I can’t stand feeling . . . not in control of myself or my life. And yet . . . that afternoon, I decided I wanted to take that leap. I wanted to stand before you completely naked.” She couldn’t suppress a tiny giggle at her own words. She’d meant them metaphorically, but they had been quite literally naked in the boathouse and were again now. “I mean . . . with nothing hidden. To offer all of me and accept all of you in return. It’s the first time in my life I ever took that kind of risk.”

“Risk? You worried I didn’t feel the same?” he asked softly.

“No!” She needed so much for him to understand. “It wasn’t that. I just told you that I knew you loved me. It’s that . . . love, itself, is a pretty overwhelming thing. Nothing brings greater joy or greater pain. And I decided that day that love was worth the risk. You and I were worth the risk. Whatever might happen, I was determined to love you and give you all of myself—without reservations or regrets. And that made me tremble.”

He’d kept his eyes on hers as she spoke, but now he looked down. “And do you regret that now?” he asked.

Gently, she reached out and tilted his chin up to face her again. “No,” she said firmly. “And I never will.”

“But . . .”

“You hurt me. And I hurt you. And I’d be lying if I told you that I’m completely over that hurt. But I do not regret how I’ve loved you. And I will not regret making love to you now any more than I did then. Because I love you even more now than I did then.”

“And why do you tremble now?” he asked her.

She sighed, realizing that she actually was trembling again. “For the same reason I did then,” she said. “We’re very different people than we were that day, Ned. But one thing’s the same. We have to choose again to love without reservation or regret. Whatever happens. We have to take that leap all over again and see where it leads us. I feel like we’ve been hiding from each other and now I feel . . . more naked . . . in front of you than I have in a long time. Oh, our bodies have no secrets from each other at this point. That’s not what I mean. But we’ve kept other things hidden. We’ve held on to secrets—shame, and guilt, and fear, and . . . it’s driven us apart. And now we’ve stripped bare to share all of that with each other and here we are—wanting each other and loving each other, and not knowing what the future will bring. So I tremble. But I choose to love you.”

She hadn’t realized she was crying until he reached up to wipe her cheeks gently with the pads of his thumbs. “I will choose to love you every day for the rest of my life,” he said. Then he leaned in to kiss her, and this time he did lay her down. He covered her flesh with kisses, moving over her with an intoxicating mix of passion and tenderness, brushing his lips over her face, her neck, her shoulders, her breasts, her belly, and her thighs. 

She pulled him back up to capture his lips with her own, wanting him to be less careful of her while simultaneously loving the care he took as she did not want a repeat of what happened in the library. She’d been lashing out at him as much as reaching for him then, and she wanted none of that now. There would be more conversations, more painful words to say and hear, more questions, more problems to address. She knew that. He knew it, too, although she knew he’d be more tempted to willfully ignore it than she was, stubborn man. Now wasn’t the time for any of that, however. She had made her choice. Whether or not her marriage could be resurrected. Whether or not they could truly get past all that had happened between them. She might get hurt by taking a chance on this love again, but she would regret it forever if she didn’t.

She held Ned against her tightly as they kissed, feeling the hardness of his cock against her flesh. She gripped his hips to push him more tightly against her and moved her own hips beneath him. She was rewarded with a sound that was half gasp, half moan from Ned at the friction she created. His hips bucked involuntarily, but as she reached to guide his cock inside her, he suddenly rose up off her.

She opened her mouth to protest, but before she could speak a word, he had buried his face between her legs. The sounds that escaped her then were certainly not words. Conscious of the six young people sleeping on this floor of the house, she reached wildly for the edge of the comforter, holding it over her mouth to keep from crying out. God he was good at this! He knew precisely how and where to touch her with lips and tongue and fingers to make her completely lose her mind. She couldn’t remain completely silent as her hips jerked beneath him, and she pressed the fabric more tightly against her mouth with one hand hoping to at least muffle the sound as her other hand gripped the back of his head.

After she came, he raised up above her and pulled the cover away from her face, simply watching her face as she struggled to catch her breath. “You are so beautiful,” he said hoarsely. He then bent to put his lips around one of her nipples and as he licked and sucked at it, she felt the desire building up within her again even as she still lay there feeling almost weightless from her orgasm. 

“Tell me what you want, Ned,” she managed to say, wanting to make him feel as wonderful as he made her feel. 

He released her nipple from his mouth and looked up at her. “I want you,” he said simply. Then he flicked her other nipple lightly with his tongue, making her giggle before he put his lips around it to give it the same treatment he’d already given its twin.

Almost lazily, she reached her hand down between their bodies to stroke his cock. 

“Cat!” he gasped. “Don’t . . . I won’t last if you do that.”

She pulled him up so that his face was above hers. “Then what would you like me to do?” she whispered into his ear before putting her lips to his neck.

“I . . . I just want . . . to make you feel good,” he panted as she kissed his neck and the side of his face and continued slowly stroking his very hard cock in spite of his admonition to stop.

“Nope,” she said with a smile. “You’ve already done that.” She tightened her grip on his cock and grinned wickedly. “Would you like me to return the favor?”

“No!” he almost shouted. “I mean, yes, but . . . not now. I swear I’ll come if you put your mouth on me, Cat.”

“I won’t mind,” she drawled, licking all the way around her lips with her tongue and watching his eyes go wide at the sight.

He pulled himself completely away from her and sat up then. “You are a wicked woman. Do you know that?”

She sat up as well and looked at him innocently. “I just want to make you feel good,” she said, echoing his own words.

“You do. God knows you do. And I will happily take you up on your offer. But not now.” He reached out and took her hands. “Right now, I only want to make love to you. I want . . . I want you to know that it is _always_ making love for me. Every time, Cat. Every time.” 

His voice was thick with emotion and she could see a desperation beyond the undeniable lust in his eyes. She realized that the memory of their frenzied library sex and her subsequent words about it were on his mind as well as hers.

“Make love to me, Ned,” she whispered, running a hand along his cheek. She’d spoken those words to him at least a thousand times. And they’d certainly discovered many different ways to make love to each other over the years. He’d already made love to her tonight, and her body still tingled from the feel of his mouth on her sex. But she knew what he meant by the words now. “Make love to me. I want you to.”

She then lay back and smiled up at him just as she had the very first time she’d ever spoken those words to him. He smiled back as he positioned himself above her, bending to kiss her lips before doing anything else. Then he took himself in hand and entered her as gently and slowly as he had that first time. Then, he had been terrified of hurting her. Now, he simply seemed to want to savor the moment. He held himself still a moment when he had pushed himself fully inside her, closing his eyes as if in prayer. The delicious sensation of him filling her up made her want to move beneath him, but she held herself still as well until he opened his eyes and looked at her. 

“I love you, Ned,” she whispered.

At that, he smiled. His smiles were always beautiful to her, and this one made her catch his breath. Then he could hold himself still no longer and began to thrust. She wrapped her arms and legs and around him in encouragement, and together they moved together in this intimate dance they knew so well. The rhythm of their movements increased in tempo and intensity until they lost all rhythm at all, their bodies responding to each other in a manner that had somehow become comfortably familiar without ever becoming less pleasurable.

As she lay curled up beside and partially atop him with her head on his chest afterward, it occurred to Catelyn that Ned was right. It was always making love for them. Even when she’d been raking her nails down his back and wanting him to hurt in the library. She’d been angry and hurt, but she’d loved him desperately in spite of that. And had she not loved him, it never would have happened. She knew perfectly well that love and sex were not the same thing, and that millions of people seemed entirely content to separate them completely. She knew just as well that she could never do that, and wouldn’t want to.

“Merry Christmas, my love,” she said, recalling with a smile that it was technically Christmas Day.

“Well, it’s certainly started off merrily,” he replied, and she laughed. She’d missed laughing in his arms. 

She raised up to kiss his cheek. “I concur, Mr. Stark,” she said, smiling at him.

He smiled back, but then his expression became thoughtful. “Marry me, Cat,” he said.

That caused to her sit straight up. “What?”

He frowned. “When you called me Mr. Stark just then, . . . I can’t stand the fact that you aren’t Mrs. Stark.” He sat up himself and took her hand. “I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. So, Catelyn Tully Stark, will you marry me?”

He looked so hopeful, so fiercely committed to loving her, and somehow impossibly young—almost as young as he’d been when he’d proposed to her a year after she’d graduated college. She felt the tears pricking at her eyes, and she bit her lip. “No,” she said softly.

His face fell, and she was reminded once again of how similar his expressions were to their youngest son’s in spite of Rickon’s coloring being almost entirely hers. “No?” he repeated, as if he must have heard incorrectly. “But we . . . you said that . . .”

“That I choose to love you without reservation or regret,” she said quickly. “And I do. I love you, Ned, and I’ve never stopped. Three days ago, I wished desperately that I could figure out how to stop loving you, but I don’t want that any more. Loving you isn’t a curse I’m forced to bear for the rest of my life. It’s a gift, an opportunity. And I’m going to make the most of it.”

“But then why don’t we just . . .”

“Our loving each other does not mean we’re ready to commit to marriage again, Ned. We messed up our marriage pretty badly, and I can give you six excellent reasons why we can’t ever do that again.” He looked at her blankly. “The children, Ned. Robb, Jon, Sansa, Arya, Bran, and Rickon.”

“I knew you were referring to the children, Cat,” he said almost shortly. “What I don’t understand is why the children are reasons for us to never get married again.”

“Oh! I didn’t mean . . . Oh, Ned!” She didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. He looked broken-hearted, confused, and thoroughly irritated all at once. “We can’t screw up a marriage again, my love,” she said, holding tightly to his hands. “I won’t hurt them like that again. It isn’t fair. So, as much as I love you, I can’t marry you until we’re on much more solid ground. We can’t fix everything we’ve broken in three days, Ned. That’s impossible.”

“So how do we fix it, Cat? What do we do next?”

She closed her eyes and willed herself not to laugh because she didn’t think he’d appreciate it. But he was doing precisely what she’d known he would. They loved each other, they wanted to be together, so they would be together. Just give him the tools or the map or whatever it took, and he’d get it done. “Well . . . first of all, I think we need more time. Time together and apart to figure out how we feel . . . not just how we feel about each other,” she said quickly before he could interrupt. “How we feel about all that’s happened, about how we solve problems together in the future. Because we will have problems in the future, Ned. Problems are unavoidable. And we can’t hide from them or stop listening to each other. We have to . . .”

“I am never going to keep anything from you again as long as I live. Cat, I know what I’ve done, and . . .”

“Knowing what we’ve done is no guarantee that we won’t do the same things in the future. We didn’t get here all at once, Ned. It took time.”

“I lied to you about Jon, and that . . .”

“Yes. That was a singular event. And I certainly hope that neither of us will ever be faced with such an event again. But, Ned, the way we’ve interacted with each other ever since then has to a certain extent been shaped by the secrets and guilty feelings we’ve held inside. And that’s years, my love. Years of behavior that we have to . . . unlearn, I suppose.”

“Now you sound like a psychologist or something.”

She sighed. She hadn’t intended to bring this up quite so soon. “Well, a psychologist . . . or at least a qualified counselor may be exactly what we need.”

“What?”

She rolled her eyes. “I knew you’d hate the idea. But, Ned. Counseling can be really helpful.”

“Telling all our dark, deep secrets and sins to some stranger? We can’t actually do that, Catelyn. You know that . . .”

“We can’t tell anyone the truth about Jon. Of course, I know that. We simply state from the beginning that you lied to me about something important and we absolutely cannot be any more specific than that. Only that we both know the truth now, and that we’re just trying to work through the fallout of the dishonesty. I know it’s not ideal, but I still think a good counselor could help.”

“They’ll probably decide I murdered someone and hid the body in your garden,” Ned said grumpily. 

Catelyn laughed. “They just might, if you go into it with that expression on your face.” She reached out and stroked his cheek. “Just think about it, okay?”

He turned to kiss the palm of her hand. “You aren’t playing fair, you know. I have a hard time telling you no to things when you look at me like that.”

She leaned in to kiss him. “I do love you, Ned. And I want to be your wife. But a marriage requires a bit more, I’m afraid.”

He smiled at her. “Then you’re not really saying no to my proposal, are you?”

“Ned,” she said in exasperation.

“You aren’t. You’re saying, ‘not yet.’ I can live with that.”

“You’re impossible, you know.”

“Am I wrong?”

She smiled at him. “No. Not really. I can live with ‘not yet’ too.” She kissed him once more and started to rise from the bed.

“Where are you going?” he asked, grabbing her hand.

“To the guest room. I’m sleeping there, remember?”

He pulled her back down into his arms and lay down on the bed. “You’re sleeping here.”

“Ned! The children . . .”

“Have seen us sleeping together for years. And if we’re going to be . . . dating or whatever . . . they’ll have to know about it.”

“But I don’t think it’s a good idea for us . . .”

“To sleep together? Because we’re about to have our first fight as a newly dating couple if you try to tell me that celibacy is a part of this dating deal.”

She sighed, but made no move to escape his arms. Lying beside him did feel like the most natural thing in the world. “No,” she said. “I have no intention of remaining celibate. That ship sailed long ago. I’m afraid there is no possible way for us to be together without physical intimacy.” She smiled in spite of herself. “And to be honest, that’s years of learned behavior I have no interest in unlearning.”

“That’s my girl!”

“But, I think that this Christmas has been confusing enough for the kids without them discovering us in bed together just before we tell them that the divorce has actually gone through.”

“Do we have to tell them?”

“Ned!”

“Fine. What time will Rickon be up? We’re gonna be sleep deprived anyway. Just set an alarm for a half hour before you expect the little shit to come in search of you, and stay until then.”

“Our son is not a little shit.”

“When he gets up before dawn, he is,” Ned maintained.

“I really should go,” she insisted.

He just snuggled her more tightly and then sang in her ear. “But baby, it’s cold outside.”

She laughed. “Ned!” she protested.

“But, baby, it’s cold outside.”

Rolling her eyes, she sang back at him, “The children will be suspicious.”

As expected, he sang over top of her with, “Gosh, your lips look delicious,” and she couldn’t resist continuing with “Rickon will be here at the door.”

He could never remember the next line, so she waited to see what he’d come up with. 

With minimal hesitation, he gave her a positively lecherous look and sang, “We’ll ship him off and make a few more.”

“Ned! That’s terrible!” She exclaimed. He simply raised a brow, indicating that she had to respond in song. “Your parenting plans are vicious!” she sang at him.

He was ready with, “Not my fault you taste delicious.”

“Ned!!” she squealed as he’d moved his hand to tickle the part of her he was referring to as delicious.

“I’ve missed you,” he said, apparently tired of singing. “Cat . . . I’ve missed making love to you, talking to you, looking at you, acting like an idiot with you, laughing with you, and yes, sleeping with you. That nap we took earlier is the best damn sleep I’ve had in months.”

“I’ve missed you, too,” she said. “But the children . . .”

“Will expect us to be at least semi-conscious tomorrow. Can you honestly tell me that you’ll sleep at all in that stupid little guest bed?”

“No,” she sighed.

“And I won’t sleep either if you leave.”

“Okay . . . I’ll stay. But set the alarm for six.”

He rolled away to set the alarm on the bedside table, and she missed his arms around her just in those few moments. When he rolled back toward her, she snuggled back against him in ‘little spoon’ position.

“Maybe if we come up with a few more verses, we can try that version out on the kids next Christmas,” he yawned.

“I think not, Eddard Stark.”

He laughed and then kissed the top of her head. “Will you marry me, Cat?”

“Not yet,” she said sleepily.

“Okay. I’ll ask you again tomorrow.”

She laughed and pulled his arms more tightly around her before drifting off to sleep.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Ned Stark felt something pushing at his back. Not entirely awake, he attempted to shrug whatever it was away and pressed himself even more closely against the woman his arms were around. _Catelyn. Catelyn is in my arms._ That singular, miraculous, beautiful fact was the only reality he was interested in at the moment. Steadfastly ignoring the dim realization that his left arm was rather numb beneath her and refusing to acknowledge the tugging and pushing behind him, he smiled without opening his eyes, wrapped his right arm more securely around her, and began to drift back into blissful, deep sleep.

“Daddy!”

The harsh whisper from behind him caused his eyes to pop open rather quickly.

“Daddy, roll over this way. You’re squishing Mommy.”

 _Oh dear god._ His left arm was pinned underneath Catelyn, and he couldn’t move it without disturbing her, but slowly pulled his right arm away from her, taking care not to uncover her, rolled onto his back, and looked to the side to discover his youngest son’s face mere inches from his, standing beside the bed. “Rickon,” he said hoarsely. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s Christmas!” the child replied with a grin, no longer whispering.

“Shh,” Ned said quickly. “You’ll wake Mommy.”

“Nuh-uh,” he said. “I already said ‘Mommy’ a lot of times. She’s really, really asleep. And I couldn’t reach her because you’ve got her all squished over on your side of the bed. You didn’t wake up when I whispered at you, either. So I pushed on you and pulled your covers off a little. How come you’re not wearing your pajamas? And what’s Mommy doing in here? I couldn’t find her in the bed Sansa told me she was sleeping in. Did she have a nightmare?”

“I . . . she . . .” Ned rubbed at his face trying to formulate a coherent answer to any of those questions. “What time is it, Rickon?” he finally asked.

“Morning time!” Rickon exclaimed entirely too loudly, bouncing up and down. “Christmas morning! Let’s get everybody up and see what Santa brought us!”

Catelyn jumped beside him. “Rickon?” He felt her start to sit up and he quickly rolled over to pin her and the blanket down with his arm until she remembered her state of undress. Unfortunately his sudden movement knocked the last of the blanket off of him.

“I see Daddy’s butt!” Rickon giggled.

“Oh my God,” Catelyn breathed, going very still.

“It’s morning, Mommy! Come on, let’s go downstairs!” Rickon chattered excitedly, jumping up onto the bed now that he had successfully gotten both his parents to wake up.

“Rickon, darling, get down please,” Catelyn said, her voice sounding remarkably calm as she clutched the blankets up to her neck lest his bouncing about pull them off her as well. 

“But, it’s . . .”

“Morning, I know,” she interrupted him gently. “And I’m anxious to see what Santa’s brought us, too, little man, but are your brothers and sisters awake yet?”

Rickon didn’t get down off the bed, but he did sit still near the foot of it instead of climbing on top of Catelyn and shook his head. “Nobody in Robb’s room wanted to wake up. I waked up Sansa when you weren’t where she said you’d be, but she just told me to go find Daddy if you were up already and rolled over in her bed.”

Catelyn sighed and looked toward Ned. “What time is it?” she asked him. 

“Hold on to your covers,” he muttered before sitting up and reaching for the alarm clock on the bedside table. “7:15.”

“I thought you set the alarm!”

“I did.” He inspected the clock. “For six PM apparently. Damn.”

“Daddy said a bad word!” Rickon called out in a sing-song voice. 

“Rickon,” Catelyn said then, “Why don’t you go and wake your brothers and sisters and tell them to get up and brush their teeth and then we’ll all meet here at 7:45 and go down together. Okay?”

“Eight o’clock,” Ned ammended quickly. 

“That’s too long!” Rickon whined.

“It’ll take you nearly half that time to get the others out of their beds, and you know Sansa doesn’t like to be rushed. It’ll go quickly. I promise, little man.”

“Okay,” he agreed reluctantly. Then he climbed off the bed and ran out of their room, leaving the door open, screaming, “Merry Christmas! It’s time to get up!” at the top of his lungs as he raced down the hallway.

Ned quickly got up from the bed and closed the door, locking it behind him. “I’m sorry, Cat,” he said. “I should have remembered to lock it last night.”

She sat up in the bed, still holding the blankets up to her neck. “What’s done is done. Do you really think he’ll stay away for forty-five minutes? I thought a half hour was pushing it.”

“I was just buying all the time I could. We both need a quick shower, and before you suggest showering together to save time, I assure you that will only ensure we remain in this room a good while longer.”

“Ned . . .”

“I’m not kidding, Catelyn. Half my brain right now is trying to figure out how I can get to the guest room and retrieve your Christmas pajamas and robe, but the other half is fervently praying that you drop that damn blanket and invite me back to bed.”

She smiled at him. “Don’t think for one moment that I feel any differently. But today is about the children. Last night was ours.”

“Regrets?” he asked her.

“None.” Then she bit her lip. “But we do have to be careful, Ned. I don’t want . . .”

“That’s why I’m grabbing a 30 second shower, putting on those godawful Christmas pajamas and then running up the hall to fetch your festive sleepwear before anyone realizes that you’re currently without it.”

She laughed. “You don’t think Rickon’s going to tell them how he found us? I do need my pajamas, and I’ll gratefully accept your offer to fetch them, but there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell that the older children are going to believe I just wandered in this morning to chat with you. Especially once Rickon announces that he saw your butt.”

“Oh, god, he will tell them that, won’t he?” Ned said with a sigh.

“With howls of laughter,” she assured him. 

He’d been standing just inside the locked door, happier than he’d been in a very long time in spite of the grilling they would undoubtedly receive from their children, content just to see her sitting there in their bed, but now he walked back over to the bed and sat beside her. “Cat,” he said seriously. “We’ll take care of the kids. I promise you that. However complicated this situation is, whatever . . . hurdles . . . we still have ahead of us, we’ll take care of them. But I want you. I want you in my life as my wife, and I’m going to do whatever it takes to get there.” He leaned in to kiss her, and she didn’t protest. “I love you,” he said when their lips parted.

“I love you, too,” she said, running her long fingers along the line of his beard. “I never stopped and I never will.”

“Thank God,” he breathed, and she laughed. “Now, however,” he said, rising from the bed with much regret, “For the sake of our children, I’m jumping in the shower and then putting on this godforsaken nightmare.” He shook his head as he picked up the Christmas pajamas. “Yours is just as gaudy. How is it you manage to look ravishing in yours while I just look ridiculous?”

She laughed, and he tossed her his robe. “Here, my love,” he told her. “You can wear mine for now. Your robe is in the guest room with everything else, I suppose.”

He was in the shower longer than thirty seconds, but not much longer. He emerged to find her wrapped up in his robe which was too large for her and brushing her teeth with his toothbrush. He smiled. “Caught you! You are the only person in the world I let get away with that, you know.”

She smiled. “I should hope so. But seriously, Ned, after last night, I don’t think my using your toothbrush really adds very much to the whole germ sharing thing.”

He wrapped his arms around her, not caring that he was still dripping wet and kissed her thoroughly. 

“No more morning breath,” she murmured.

“Not that I’d let that stop me,” he replied. He began kissing her again but they were almost immediately interrupted by a loud rapping on the door.

“Mom! Are you in there?”

“Yes, Arya,” she called.

“Is it safe to come in? I don’t want to go blind or anything.”

“Thirteen,” Ned muttered. “She’s only thirteen.”

“The door’s locked, sweetling. I’ll be right there,” Catelyn replied to their daughter. “Dry off and put on those pajamas,” she said to Ned much more quietly.

He complied with her request quickly as she left the master bath and crossed the bedroom to the door. 

“Merry Christmas, Arya,” he heard her say as she opened it.

“Sansa told me to check the guest room and bring you this if I found it,” Arya said. “She’s taking forever to get ready. I mean, seriously, who even needs to get ready to sit around and open presents in their pajamas?” 

“Don’t give your sister a hard time, Arya, and thank you for bringing me this.”

“Well, Dad’s robe doesn’t really fit you very well, does it?” Arya’s voice had a teasing note to it, but Ned could also hear a bit of an edge.

“Not really, no,” Catelyn said simply, and Ned could tell she was intentionally keeping her voice light and neutral.

“Where is Dad, anyway? And please tell me he’s dressed. I really don’t want to see his butt.”

“He’s in the . . .”

“I’m right here, Arya,” Ned interrupted, walking from the bathroom decked out in the garish Christmas pajamas his loving children had gifted him with. “Although, to be honest, I think this outfit is more frightening than my derriere.”

Catelyn held her own pajamas along with her robe folded up in her arms, and she and Arya turned to look at him as he emerged from the bathroom. “Derriere?” Arya asked.

“Butt,” Catelyn said flatly.

“Ugh,” Arya groaned. 

Ned just shrugged and turned to Catelyn. “The shower is yours, my lady,” he said with a ridiculous bow that made Cat laugh and Arya roll her eyes. 

“You better hurry, Mom,” Arya said. “I know it’s not really close to eight yet, but Rickon is pretty antsy. And Robb’s . . . well, you’ll see. Anyway, I don’t think you’ll keep him or Rickon out of here until eight.”

“I’ll hurry,” Catelyn sighed. Then she smiled at Arya. “I’m not Sansa,” she said with a wink.

Arya and Ned both laughed at that. But as Arya’s laughter died, she looked back and forth between her parents. “So . . .” she finally said, not quite looking at either of them. “Does this mean no divorce?”

Ned felt as if he’d been punched. “Arya,” he said softly.

“We’ll talk about it after presents,” Catelyn said quickly. “With all of you.”

Arya looked up at her mother, and then nodded slowly, biting her lip exactly like Catelyn did when she was thinking troubled thoughts. “I’ll keep ‘em out as long as I can.”

When she had gone, Catelyn looked at Ned. “I couldn’t let you just tell her we are divorced. Not all by herself. Not with the two of us . . . here like this. I just couldn’t.”

“We have to tell them, Cat. You said so yourself last night.”

“I know. But let’s give them Christmas morning first.”

He nodded and watched her walk into the bathroom. He continued watching her as she slipped out of his robe and opened a drawer to pull out a hair clip. Catelyn must have a million hair clips and ties stashed around the house in King’s Landing and here. She must have brushed her hair out while he was in the shower because the tangles from last night were already gone. She simply twisted it up on top of her head and clipped it in place the way she did when she didn’t want to get it wet. Looking at the long, lovely lines of her body as she stood there with her back to him and her hands above her head fussing with the clip, he marveled for at least the millionth time at how impossibly beautiful she truly was. And she had chosen him. She could have had her pick of any number of men more attractive, more charming, more . . . anything, really, but she had chosen him. And he’d fucking walked away from her. “I’m such a fool.”

He didn’t realize he’d spoken aloud until she turned to look at him with a puzzled look on her face. When he didn’t say anything more, she said, “Honestly, Ned, you don’t look nearly as foolish in that outfit as you seem to think you do.” She stuck her hand into the shower to test the temperature of the water, and then smiled at him. “I’ll be dressed just like you in about five minutes, and we can be matching fools.”

As she started to step into the water, he walked toward her. “Cat,” he said, stopping her. He stepped right up to her and touched her face. “I’m not talking about the pajamas. I am a fool regardless of what I wear. Only a fool would ever walk away from you, and I can never undo that. I know that. But I swear I will spend the rest of my life walking with you and holding on to you if you let me.”

“We’re all fools sometimes, Ned,” she said softly. “It’s part of the human condition, I’m afraid. But I’m not fool enough to let my anger and hurt keep me from letting you in. Yes, a part of me is scared this won’t work and that you will walk away again. But I want to spend my life walking with you, and I’m not going to shut the door on you. On us. I promise.”

“I’ll do the counseling,” he said suddenly. “If it’s important to you, I’ll do it.”

“I’m glad. I hope you’ll come to see that it’s important for both of us.”

He nodded, but still stood there with his hand on her cheek, looking at those beautiful eyes.

“Ned? You’d better let me get in the shower or the children are going to barge in here and see us like this, and I think we already have a difficult enough conversation ahead of us.”

That was an understatement. “Have you thought of what to say?”

“Not really. I suppose we’ll see how they are with us this morning and go from there.” She gave him a small smile and stepped into the shower.

It was five or ten minutes before eight when all six of the kids showed up at the bedroom door, and Catelyn emerged from the bathroom with her Christmas pajamas on and her hair falling down loose over her shoulders. She nodded at him, and he opened the door. “Merry Christmas! Let’s go see what Santa brought,” he said before anyone could ask any questions.

“Yippee!” Rickon shouted. He was off like a shot and halfway down the stairs screaming “A Pop-a-Shot! I got a Pop-a-Shot!” before Ned and Catelyn even made it out of their bedroom. 

The other kids weren’t nearly as loud, but the morning was punctuated by random exclamations of surprise and joy from all of them over the next several minutes. Cat had stopped walking about four steps from the bottom, just standing there watching their children discover their bounty. Ned moved to stand beside her and slipped an arm around her waist. She leaned into him and just kept watching the children. Ned saw Sansa, Robb, and Jon all look over at the two of them and then look away more than once. Bran was too enthralled by his telescope to pay attention to anyone, and Rickon and Arya were playing Pop-a-Shot. Ned belatedly remembered the video camera and quickly walked down the rest of the stairs to grab it from where he’d laid it on a table the night before. 

He spent the next little while filming the kids and their Christmas loot. They held things up to show and mugged for the camera just as they always did. Catelyn had descended the final stairs not long after he had and was seated on the sofa smiling and making appropriately enthusiastic comments about all the things the kids brought to show her. For a few magical moments, they all seemed as young as Rickon to Ned just as they did every Christmas and he could almost forget all that had happened to them between last Christmas and this one. But then Rickon started chanting “Open presents! Open presents!” and Robb and Jon began tossing presents out to everyone, and there were no presents for Catelyn. There were presents to each of the children from him and a present for each child from one of their siblings and presents for him from the children. But as the presents were handed out and Cat’s name wasn’t ever called, everyone seemed to feel less like Christmas.

She noticed it, of course. “Hey! No glum faces,” she insisted. “We all know I wasn’t supposed to be here. I get my turn in Riverrun. Now, Robb, hand out those last two back there, please.”

“Dad,” Robb read, tossing him a box. “It’s too light to be breakable,” he said before Ned could scold him for throwing it. Then his face looked puzzled as he looked at the tag on the last gift. “Catelyn,” he said. Then he looked at Ned questioningly.

“I . . . I didn’t . . .” He looked toward Cat and saw her looking at him with a sort of hopeful surprise on her face and he wished like hell he had gotten her something, but he hadn’t. He’d already told her that.

“It’s from me.”

Jon stepped up and took the little box from Robb. “I was going to send it with Robb, but since you decided to stay here, I put it under the tree.” He handed it to her.

“I say Mom gets to open first,” Sansa exclaimed and all the kids voiced agreement, even Rickon.

“All right,” Catelyn said, and Ned doubted the kids could hear the slight tremor in voice. She undid the wrapping, opened the lid to the box, and then drew in a breath. “Jon! Wherever did you find this?” she exclaimed. 

All the kids immediately began clamoring for her to show them what it was, and she reached into the box and pulled out a Christmas tree ornament—a crystal fountain with two crystal fish leaping above the spray. It was an exact replica of an ornament Cat’s mother had given her the Christmas before she died, an ornament that had fallen from the tree and shattered during an ill-advised Frisbee game in the great room several Christmases ago. Arya had made the particular throw that hit the tree, but all of the kids had been playing and thus had been equally culpable. Catelyn had not made a fuss over the loss of the ornament because she hadn’t wanted to put a black cloud over Christmas, but Ned knew she’d been devastated.

“Where did you find it?” she asked Jon again.

Jon shuffled his feet and looked down. “I know it’s not the same because it isn’t your mother’s, but . . . I saw it in the window of a little store in King’s Landing, one of those places that sells all kinds of just . . . pretty stuff, I guess. The kind of store Sansa likes. I’d never been in there, but I just saw it in the window, and I thought you might like it . . . even though it’s not really your mom’s.”

“Jon, I love it,” Catelyn said emphatically. “It’s exactly the same design.” She smiled up at him and carefully set the ornament back in its box before reaching for his hand. “And just like the first one, it’s a gift from someone very special. Thank you.”

Ned could barely breathe, much less speak, looking at the two of them. He’d spent so many years refusing to look too closely at the distance between them that he hadn’t been able to see just how much they’d managed to bridge that distance in the past couple years. He’d gotten so used to just walling himself away from the discord in their relationship that he’d failed to notice the respect and tentative affection. He was ashamed of himself.

“You’re welcome, Cat,” Jon said, somewhat awkwardly, obviously both pleased and somewhat taken aback by her reaction. 

She squeezed his hand and then released it, allowing him to escape to go sit between Robb and Arya. The kids then pulled Ned to sit on the sofa beside Catelyn and open his presents before each of them opened theirs. He’d had no idea what to get the children this Christmas. Catelyn had given him their sizes for clothes and shoes with the Santa Claus list and even suggested he could use items from that list to be presents from him for the older ones at least. He’d refused to do that out of pure stubbornness. If she was getting the children something additional for Christmas, so would he. It had actually depressed him to realize he didn’t have the slightest idea what any his children might like as gifts. Ashara had asked him a few questions about each of them and picked out a pretty pair of earrings for Sansa, good leather wallets for Jon and Robb, running shoes for Arya and Bran, and an Avengers backpack for Rickon. Ned at least was very familiar with Rickon’s superhero obsession as well as the fact that his favorite Avenger seemed to change weekly, so he’d been very insistent that his gift include as many Avengers as possible. Unsurprisingly, while all the kids expressed gratitude for their gifts from him, Rickon was the most enthusiastic.

Their gifts to each other were far more individualized and elicited shouts and squeals and laughter. Jon opened his presents last and had an extra gift—it was a card, actually, with his name on the envelope. When he held it up, he got curious looks from his siblings and a “Hey! How come the rest of us didn’t get cards?” from Rickon, but he was shushed by Catelyn.

Then looking at Jon, she said, “I was going to send it with the kids, but once we decided I was driving them here, I just stuck it in my purse. And eventually under the tree.”

Jon smiled at her. “But . . . the boots . . .”

“Are from Santa,” she said quickly. “I may have added them to your request list, but he got them for you.” She smiled and nodded at the card. “That’s from me.”

Grinning more widely, he opened the card and read it to himself. Then he pulled a small card out of it. “A year?” he asked her. “You got me Xbox Live Gold for a whole year?”

She shrugged slightly. “I know you all like to play together. I thought that with . . . well, with you living in another house . . . you’d enjoy playing with your brothers and sisters online.”

“I . . . Thanks, Cat! This is really great!” Jon stammered.

It was a remarkably thoughtful gift, Ned reflected, as he watched the two of them looking at each other. Jon walked over to her and gave her an awkward sort of hug, but Jon tended to be a bit awkward about hugging in general, and he seemed much more natural after Catelyn hugged him back without hesitation.

The moment was broken by Rickon’s voice. “But he won’t need that now, right? Because Daddy and Jon will come home and we can all play together.”

The other kids became very silent and still at that.

“Rickon,” Catelyn said softly.

“You aren’t getting divorced now,” Rickon insisted. “Because you were sleeping in the bed with Daddy just like always, and Tommen says when people get divorced they don’t do that anymore!” His voice got progressively louder as he went on.

“Rickon,” Ned said, far more sharply than Catelyn had, “Tommen Baratheon’s family is not this one. And his parents are nothing like your mother and me, so kindly listen to the two of us rather than Tommen.”

“It’s hard to listen to you when you don’t tell us anything,” Arya said. “But the little squirt’s right. How can you get divorced now? I mean, I didn’t need to hear everything that he saw this morning, but we’re not _all_ babies, Dad. We know what . . .” She looked at Catelyn and then back to him and then down at the ground. “Well, you know!”

“I’m not a baby!” Rickon insisted, clearly taking issue with his sister’s ‘not _all_ babies’ remark. 

“Quiet, both of you,” Ned insisted. “Your mother and I are two adults who have loved each other for a long time, and we spent the night together in _our_ bedroom. That is all anyone shall say on that particular subject. That is most definitely something private between the two of us and does not involve any of you.”

Everyone was silent for a moment. 

“You’re wrong, Dad.” Everyone turned to look at Robb when he spoke those words. He didn’t shout or even sound angry. He simply spoke as if stating an indisputable fact. “You’re wrong. I don’t mean that your sex life is any of our business.” His cheeks colored a bit as he said that, but he ignored Sansa’s gasp of “Robb!” and looked Ned in the eye as he continued. “I think I speak for all of us when I say nobody wants to hear about that. But your marriage is our business. Because it’s our family that you split up. And whatever’s been going on between you two since we got to Winterfell affects all of us. So don’t tell us we’re not involved.”

Ned found himself at a loss for words. Every word his son spoke was true, but he didn’t have the slightest idea how to respond to him.

“You know we filed for divorce some time ago,” Catelyn said quietly.

“ _He_ filed,” Arya corrected her.

Catelyn didn’t contradict her but looked directly at their younger daughter as she said, “And then _we_ settled all the terms and signed off on them with the lawyer.” She took a deep breath, and looked at each of the children in turn before looking back to Robb. “The divorce has gone through. I got the final papers the day we left King’s Landing.”

Ned once more felt those words as a physical blow, and as he looked at their faces, it appeared his childen did as well.

“What . . . what does that mean, exactly?” Bran asked.

“It means that your father and I are officially divorced, Bran,” Catelyn said gently. “We aren’t married to each other anymore.”

Silent tears streamed down Sansa’s cheeks. “But . . . you don’t have to stay divorced, right? You can just tell them it was all a mistake. Tell them to tear up the papers or something. Right?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that, sweetling,” Catelyn said to her. “Your father and I need . . .”

“What’s complicated about it?” Robb demanded suddenly, standing up. He wasn’t looking at Catelyn though. He looked right at Ned. “Last night, you told me that you and Mom were trying to move forward. That you were listening to each other. And that you messed up but you knew what you wanted. So . . . you’re legally divorced. That really sucks. But Sansa’s right. You don’t have to stay divorced. You can get married again. So what’s complicated? Do you want to be married to Mom or just hook up with her? Because I swear to God I will never forgive you if that’s all you want.”

Ned heard several gasps at Robb’s words, and when he finished speaking he continued to stare directly at Ned, blue eyes blazing with anger. Rickon and Sansa were both openly crying; Arya looked ready to murder someone—whether Robb or himself, Ned wasn’t sure; Bran looked equal parts miserable, terrified, and confused, and Jon sat still as a statue with only the hard set of his jaw and the obvious concern in his grey eyes giving evidence of the emotional distress Ned knew lay beneath the surface.

The silence after Robb finished speaking lasted no longer than a fraction of a second as Catelyn got to her feet, her own blue eyes blazing as she faced their firstborn son. “Robb Eddard Stark, you will sit down, you will shut your mouth, and you will listen to me.” She’d spoken his name somewhat loudly, but dropped her voice to just below her normal speaking volume as she issued those commands. The expression on her face and the tone of her voice, however, left no doubt that she would be obeyed immediately, and Robb dropped back into his seat looking up her rather sullenly.

“You are speaking to your father, young man,” she continued. “What’s more, you are speaking to the man I chose as my husband and the father of my children. You will never speak to him or about me in that manner ever again. Do you understand me?” As Robb gave just the tiniest of nods, she continued. “Your father told you that we are two adults who have loved each other for a very long time, and that is the truth. He neglected to state clearly that we are two _consenting_ adults, and we’ve had numerous conversations with you and your siblings about that word. I know you understand how important it is. Anything your father and I have done this weekend, we have done by our choice and by mutual consent. Do not insult me by insinuating I am not capable of protecting myself from being taken advantage of, and do not insult your father by insinuating he would ever attempt to do so. However we may have hurt each other these past months, that is something he would never do, and you know that, Robb. And while it isn’t any of your business, I will tell you that through all of the many years your father and I have been making love, not one single time did either of us consider it _hooking_ up.”

The silence after Catelyn finished speaking lasted quite a bit longer, and she never took her eyes from Robb’s throughout it. 

Finally, Robb spoke, sounding much younger than he had when he’d first challenged Ned. “I’m sorry, Mom. I really am. It’s just . . . I just don’t want you to hurt anymore.”

She sighed deeply and walked over to run a hand through his hair the way she’d done since he was small. “I know, Robb,” she said almost in a whisper. “I never want any of you to hurt, and I’ve been guilty of behaving rather irrationally at times when any of you were. I try very hard not to do that, but I know I don’t always succeed. And lately, your father and I have been hurting you and your brothers and sisters more than anyone else ever has, and we’ve both behaved irrationally about that at times. But it stops now.” Robb had been looking at his lap, but Catelyn turned his face upward to look at her. “We are a family, Robb. You’re right about that. And accusations born of anger are not acceptable in this family. If you’re angry with your father and me, you likely have a right to be. All of you do. We’ve hurt you. But no more temper tantrums, no more threats, no more accusations. From any of us toward anyone in this family. Do you understand?” Her voice was much gentler as she asked that question this time as she was truly seeking his understanding rather than compliance with a command this time.

“Yes, Mother,” Robb said. He then looked toward Ned. “I’m sorry, Dad. I shouldn’t have said that to you.”

“It’s all right, Robb,” Ned said softly. 

“It’s not all right,” Robb said, shaking his head. Then he closed his eyes tightly against the tears which had begun to form in them before opening them to look at Ned again. “I have been so mad at you for so long . . . . but, that doesn’t make what I said just now all right, and I’m sorry.”

Ned swallowed hard, and met his firstborn’s eyes. “Apology accepted, son. And I’ve given you reason to be angry.”

“We both have,” Catelyn said, walking back to sit down beside Ned again and take his hand. “Everything I said to Robb goes for all of you. If you’re angry, please tell us. We need to hear about your anger, your fear, your hurt. We don’t need you screaming at us or demanding that we do what you want us to do.” She looked at Ned. “We’ve done enough of that to each other over the past few months to last a lifetime, and we can’t do it anymore. What we all could use is a little more openness and a little less hostility.”

Rickon was still sniffling, and Sansa was sitting with her arm around him. Ned knew this conversation was mostly over his head. He also knew his little boy looked frightened. “Come here, little man,” he said, and Rickon nearly catapulted himself into his lap. Catelyn reached over to run her hand through his hair just as she had done with Robb. 

Ned looked out at the five children still facing him and asked, “Does anyone have anything they want to say? Or to ask?”

Arya bit her lip and then said, “It’s all good and well for Mom to say she wants more openness, but you two haven’t been open at all with us. You still aren’t really telling us anything. Are you staying divorced or aren’t you? I think we deserve to know that.”

There was a definite challenge in her voice. “Your mother also said we could use a little less hostility, Arya,” Ned replied firmly, but without anger. “Please remember that.” He sighed. “I’m afraid we did a pretty thorough hatchet job on our marriage, children,” he began.

“But you love each other!” Sansa protested in a voice that was very nearly a wail.

“That we do,” Ned said. “And don’t any of you doubt that. And we want to spend our lives together. Don’t doubt that, either.” Ned could see the relief visible on all of their faces at those words. Even Jon appeared to let out a breath he’d been holding for awhile. “That being said, we hurt each other deeply. We never meant to. Your mother is the last person in the world I’d ever want to hurt, but I did hurt her. And while I cannot tell you every specific hurt I gave her, because that truly isn’t any of your concern, I can tell you that she is willing to forgive me and work toward rebuilding our life together.”

“And your father is willing to forgive me as well,” Catelyn put in quickly. “For I’ve hurt him, too.”

“Did you hit each other?” Rickon asked, looking up at her from Ned’s lap with confusion and concern on his face.

“No, darling. Not ever,” Catelyn said firmly. “Your father and I would never raise a hand to each other. No matter how angry we may get. We hurt each other’s feelings, Rickon. And I know you understand how badly that can hurt.”

“You shouldn’t do that,” he said solemnly. “It’s mean.”

“It is mean. And while we didn’t intend it, I’m afraid we’ve been very mean to each other.”

“But you’re done being mean? It’s all better now?”

Catelyn laughed although Ned could see she was close to tears. “We are absolutely finished with being mean to each other, Rickon. That’s a promise. As for things being all better—well, they’re much more than a little bit better. We’re sitting here together on Christmas morning with all of you. And that feels wonderful.”

Rickon smiled at up at his mother. “So Daddy and Jon will come home with us?”

Ned wondered if the kids noticed the way Catelyn caught her breath and the slight tremble of her lip before she replied. “Well . . . Jon is welcome to come home at any time. It’s his home as much as it is anyone else’s.” She turned to look at Jon who hadn’t spoken in a very long time. “I understand if you don’t want to leave your dad all alone, Jon. I don’t like doing that either, to be honest. But our home is yours. And if you want to go back and forth a bit like your brothers and sisters do, we’d love to have you there. And your dad already said it’s okay.”

Jon looked at Ned who simply nodded. 

“I’d like to go and stay over sometimes,” Jon said softly. “But . . . what about you and Catelyn? What are you going to do now?”

Six faces turned to him expectantly and he took a deep breath. He turned to Catelyn and found her looking at him as well, biting her lip. “Well, son,” he said, turning back to look at Jon. “We’re trying to figure that out. We know where we want to be. We’re just not quite there yet. And I’m afraid you’ll have to be patient with us.”

“What does that even mean?” Arya asked rather plaintively, sounding nearly as young and confused as Rickon for once instead of angry and older than her years. 

“It means that it’s not all better,” Catelyn said without hesitating. “I didn’t finish answering Rickon’s original question. It’s much better between us but some hurts . . . well, it takes time. And work. Divorced or not, we are not ready to give up on each other. I want you all to know that. But we aren’t ready to be husband and wife again just yet. Not until we know we can get it right. For all of us.”

“But you did get it right!” Sansa protested. “For years and years! You’ve always been happy!”

Catelyn was silent a moment, and Ned found himself awaiting her response as eagerly as the children did. Unlike the children, he knew that there had been his enormous lie between the two of them for nearly their entire marriage. But in spite of that, their happiness had been real. Their marriage had been good in spite of how he’d sabotaged it. He’d never stop believing that, and he hoped desperately that she believed it, too.

Finally, she sighed. “We got a lot of things right, Sansa,” she said softly. “And we made each other very happy. I hope we made you children happy, too, until recently.” Then she looked at Jon. “But we’ve hurt each other and we’ve hurt you, too. Not intentionally most of the time, but we’ve done it.” She looked around at all the children then. “And this . . . this blow-up, for lack of a better word, didn’t really happen as suddenly as it seems to all of us. We were happy. But this . . . trouble . . . has been there a long time. So far under the surface that we weren’t even aware of it.”

“You mean Jon?” asked Arya hesitantly. Ned heard none of the accusatory tone she had adopted a few years ago when speaking to her mother about Jon. She only sounded sad and a little bit frightened. “I mean . . . you, know . . . Dad’s cheating on you?” 

“No,” Catelyn answered without hesitation, and she looked toward Jon. “I won’t pretend that didn’t hurt. And neither your father nor I dealt with it as well as we should have. And that caused more hurt. For that, I’m sorry.” Her eyes never left Jon’s as she spoke. “But that isn’t what got us to this place.”

“Wait!” Rickon interrupted. “When did Daddy cheat? He never cheats at any game, and he always catches us when we try it. Even Arya. And Bran says she’s really good at cheating in all kinds of games.”

Rickon’s confusion brought home rather forcefully just how far above his head this conversation truly was. One day, he’d understand what Jon’s presence in the family meant about his father, or at least what Ned had allowed them to believe it meant about him. The youngest Stark would have to come to terms with it as all of the others had before him, and it made Ned unbearably sad. Whatever Catelyn said about it, he felt largely responsible for putting them all in this place.

“We aren’t talking about games, Rickon,” Catelyn said softly. “And your father is certainly not a cheater. He is an honest man and wants you all to grow up to be honest as well. That’s why he fusses at you when you cheat.” She smiled slightly as she said that, again mussing his hair with her fingers. “Sometimes words are used in confusing ways. Arya was talking about something that happened a long time before you born when your daddy hurt my feelings. But he was very sorry, and I know he never meant to hurt me.”

“Like when Aunt Lysa told us people always said she looks like you, and I told her she doesn’t really look like you because she’s a lot bigger than you and her face is all round and kind of puffy? And she yelled at me and you said it was just because I hurt her feelings, and I said I didn’t mean to?”

Ned didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at that remark, but Catelyn only smiled at their youngest. “Not exactly. But I suppose it’s a bit similar.”

Rickon looked up at Ned with a frown. “You can’t say . . . uncompli . . .” Ned hid his own smile as Rickon struggled to recall the word. “Uncomplimentary things about people even if they’re true,” he said sternly. “And Mommy doesn’t have a round, puffy face anyway. Hers is perfect.”

“That it is, Rickon,” Ned agreed.

“You still haven’t told us why you got divorced in the first place,” Arya said, refusing to be distracted by Rickon.

“Arya,” Ned said. “We’ve already told you that not everything between your mother and me is your business. We’re working things out. We’re doing our best to mend our family. That will have to be enough for you.”

“It isn’t, though.” Surprisingly, the quiet words came from Sansa, and everyone turned to look at her. “Like Robb said, this is our family, not just yours. And in your words, Dad, you two did a hatchet job on it. And whether you realize it or not, you and Mom aren’t the only ones bleeding. We know that you two aren’t perfect. What you did, Dad . . .” she closed her mouth tightly and looked first at Rickon and then at Jon, and said nothing more specifically. “Well, it was wrong. And we always knew Mom was angry about that. I mean, not yelling or hateful or temper tantrum angry, but . . . just sometimes, we could feel it. But that’s the only thing that ever seemed wrong between you, and most of the time, even that didn’t seem like such a big thing. I mean . . . not to most of us, anyway.” Ned didn’t miss the way her eyes quickly looked toward Jon again before she brought them back to him. “But since at least the beginning of summer, you’ve both been angry all the time, shouting or barely speaking to each other for days, and we all walked on eggshells. It was horrible. Then you left. And that was even more horrible.” She turned toward Catelyn then. “And now you say it wasn’t sudden at all, but that it has nothing to do with the only big problem you’ve ever had, and that your marriage has had something wrong with it for a long time. You say you love each other but don’t think you should be married. What does that even mean, Mom? Is everything we’ve known and loved about the two of you all our lives . . . just a lie? I don’t believe that. But I need you to tell me the truth. We all need that.”

Sansa never raised her voice and her words never became petulant or demanding. She simply spoke clearly from her heart and then looked at her mother, waiting for a response. Catelyn looked back at her for long moment, and Ned was struck by the remarkable similarity in their faces. Sansa had always looked like her mother, but now he saw Catelyn’s intelligence, poise, and careful consideration of her words mirrored in their daughter. _She’s growing up,_ Ned thought. _They’re all growing up, and that’s hard enough to do without our making it harder on them._

“You do deserve the truth,” Catelyn finally said. “And I shall give it to you the best that I can.”

For the briefest moment, Ned felt panicked. She’d promised him not to reveal Jon’s parentage, but what other truth could she tell them? As if knowing instinctively he’d need reassurance, she turned took his hand in hers and squeezed it. Immediately, he felt ashamed for doubting her even momentarily. Doubting her had led to every stupid decision he’d made. It had put them in this place.

“First of all, everything you believe about our family is the truth. Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran, and Rickon—you have each been loved from the moment we knew you grew inside me. And you grew from a love between two people that is stronger than anything I ever imagined before I was lucky enough to experience it for myself. All of that is true.” She looked specifically at Jon then. “Jon, you and I spoke about the love that brought you into this world. Whether you choose to share or not share that conversation with your siblings or anyone else is entirely up to you. But you, too, have been loved from the moment you were born, and this is as much your family as anyone else’s.” She turned her attention back to the group at large. “Everything we’ve shared as a family has been real and true—the highs and the lows. And through it all your father and I have loved and respected each other, and the countless moments of joy we’ve found in each other and in you are true. And, honestly, I think there are a lot of marriages and families built on much less than that.”

“Then what’s the prob . . .”

Catelyn silenced Arya with glance, and no one else offered to interrupt so Catelyn continued. “But this isn’t just any family. It’s ours. And this isn’t just any marriage. It’s mine. And Ned’s. And we deserve more.” Her voice shook with emotion, but she quickly controlled it again. “We deserve trust. Real shared trust. And your father and I have been too afraid to give that to each other for a very long time.”

“What?” Robb’s voice was the loudest, but there were multiple expressions of dismay and disbelief. Ned was anxious to hear just precisely what she meant, himself.

She held up a hand which produced silence again. “We trust each other more than either of us trusts anyone in the word. I trust your father to love me and care for me. I trust him with my hopes and dreams and confidences. But I haven’t trusted him with all of myself. I haven’t trusted him with the parts of me I don’t like—the ugly, unlovable parts. And before you protest again, I’m not saying that I’m a terrible, unlovable person. I’m not. And to be honest, I’m rather proud of who I am in most respects. But every person has those little dark places inside they wish weren’t there. The irrational fears, the unkind thoughts, the unfair judgments. Those are the things I never wanted to let your father see in me. And he never wanted me to see them in him, either. So we hid little bits of ourselves. We didn’t quite trust each other enough to believe we could still be loved if our lover really saw all of us.” She shrugged. “It seems such a little thing at first—when you share so much--but over the years, it can become bigger and bigger—this need to hide, to keep everything lovely and lovable on the surface. And what it really boils down to is a failure to trust in the other person, a failure to trust in the love that person has for you. And that is where we failed each other, children. And failed you. And that’s the truth.”

Everyone was quiet then for what seemed like a very long time to Ned, and then, to his great surprise, Jon spoke.

“Everybody hides some things. Nobody tells people everything. Even the people they love best.” 

Jon sounded more resigned and world-weary as he spoke those words than any seventeen year old should, and Ned’s heart felt heavy with the grief and guilt of knowing that Jon’s outlook was formed in large part by his own reluctance to ever speak of his mother. He struggled to find words with which to reply.

Catelyn, however, responded immediately. “You’re right. No human being shares every thought or feeling with another one. We need to keep some things to ourselves—things that would serve only to hurt someone else or even little thoughts or dreams we just cherish holding onto privately. I’m talking about something bigger. I’m talking about . . . bits of yourself that truly bother you or cause you to view yourself negatively. Actions, or thoughts, or beliefs, or even personal characteristics that you’re hiding because you feel ashamed of them. You should never hide something about yourself from someone who loves you with all their heart out of shame. You should trust that person to love all of you. And that’s hard to do sometimes. It’s scary. But I also believe it’s essential in order to have the kind of marriage that your father and I want, and that’s what we’re working toward. I believe we can get there, but we’re not there yet. And that’s the truth.”

“But what happened this summer? What made it all blow up?” Robb asked. “Something started the fighting. Something you’re not telling us.”

“It doesn’t really matter,” Catelyn told him. “It only exposed the trouble that was already there. We couldn’t be open enough with each other to talk through the issues and solve them. We talked at each other, but we didn’t trust enough to really talk with each other. And our own fears kept us from listening to each other.”

“It does matter,” Ned said softly, feeling compelled to contradict her for the first time. “It’s between the two of us, and no, Robb, it does not involve any infidelity on anyone’s part. But it does matter, and I was in the wrong.”

“Ned . . .” Catelyn started to interrupt.

“I was wrong,” he said slightly more loudly, “But I’d gotten used to keeping the things I didn’t like about myself hidden away, just as Catelyn said. I was so afraid to let her see those things, I didn’t even look too closely myself. If I had, I’d have realized how wrong I was. Instead, I dug in my heels, became defensive, and began to blame her for things that were never her fault and push her away when fear of losing her was the reason I’d not trusted her with all of it in the first place. Which makes no sense at all, does it?”

“None of this makes any sense,” Rickon whined, leaning his head back against Ned’s chest. “Can we eat now? I’m hungry.”

“Yes, Rickon. We can eat. All of you have to get on the road soon or it will be bedtime before you get to Grandpa Hoster’s.”

“I want you to come to Grandpa Hoster’s,” Rickon whined.

“Rickon,” Ned sighed, not knowing what else to say.

“Daddy needs to stay here,” Catelyn said. “I know it’s hard, baby, and I know all this talking doesn’t make it easier, but right now, Mommy and Daddy aren’t married, and Daddy isn’t moving back home right now. So, he won’t always be with us. But you’ll still go to Daddy’s house, and sometimes I’ll even come with you. And Daddy will certainly be at our house a lot more. Doesn’t that sound pretty good?”

“Not as good as everybody just living at home like they’re supposed to,” Rickon groused.

Catelyn kissed his forehead. “No, it doesn’t. But it’s better than the way it’s been. And that’s something.” She smiled at him. “Now scoot. You said you were hungry. Head for the kitchen.”

Rickon sighed, but jumped off Ned’s lap and stopped to pick up two of his new action figures before walking toward the kitchen where he knew he’d find donuts awaiting him like every Christmas morning.

Catelyn stood, and Arya looked up at her from her seat. “So that’s the end of the conversation, then?” she asked, just a little of her old defiance creeping back into her voice.

“No,” Catelyn said. “Important conversations take time, Arya, and I expect we’ll revisit this conversation multiple times. But for now, we do need to get on with Christmas Day. I hope you’ll all think about what we’ve said. And if you have questions, please come to us. You may speak with us together or separately or however you feel comfortable. I can’t promise you that you’ll get all the answers you want, but we don’t want you just wondering or imagining things rather than asking. There’s been enough of that. And however confused you still are or disappointed that your father and I aren’t running straight to the courthouse to get married again, please concentrate on the fact that we want to put our family back together again as much as you do. Three days ago, I got a piece of paper in the mail that told me my family, as I knew it, was forever broken. That my marriage was over forever. Today, I feel I’ve been given a chance to make that marriage and family even better than it was before, and that’s saying something. That’s an unexpected Christmas gift, and I’m choosing to be grateful for it rather than spending my Christmas wishing it were even better. I hope you can do the same.”

“Where’s the chocolate milk?” Rickon shouted from the kitchen causing several people to laugh.

“We don’t shout from room to room, Rickon!” Catelyn called back. Then she looked at Sansa. “It’s in the refrigerator directly behind the white milk which he obviously can’t be bothered to move. Could you go help him, sweetheart?”

Sansa nodded and hugged her mother tightly. “Come on, everybody,” she said. “Before Rickon eats all the good ones.”

Ned rose to follow the children to the kitchen, but Catelyn called him back.

“Ned? Can I talk to you a moment?”

He began to walk back toward her, but Robb caught his arm. “I only need him for a second, Mom,” he said.

Ned turned to face his oldest son. “What do you need, Robb?” he asked, walking a little way down the hall with Robb.

“I need you to fix this.”

Ned sighed. “Robb, you heard what . . .”

“I heard it,” Robb interrupted him. He didn’t sound angry or accusatory, though. “I heard all of it, and I listened. And . . . I believe everything Mom said. I believe you, too. Whatever you did, Dad, I need you to fix it. I’m not gonna ask you what it was because Mom’s right that it doesn’t matter. Not to us, anyway. I’m sure it matters to you and Mom, but all we need is for the two of you to be all right. And I don’t think you’ll ever be all right apart. That’s not me being selfish. Well . . . yeah, it is, because I need you two together. We all do. But I really do believe you need to be together just for yourselves, too. So, whatever you did wrong, you do whatever it takes to fix it. Whatever she needs to fix this trust thing she talked about, you give it to her. And I’m sorry that I’ve been kind of dick, but she’s just been so sad and still trying to take care of all of us, and I needed you, Dad. You’ve always been the one who helped me figure stuff out. And I couldn’t talk to you about this because I was so mad at you for doing this to her. To all of us. And I’m so tired of being mad at you. It’s like Mom told Rickon. I’m finished with all of us being mean to each other. You and Mom seem to think this fixable now, so just fix it, Dad. Please. Fix it and come home.”

Ned looked at the serious expression on his son’s face. Robb looked so much like Catelyn he didn’t often see himself in his face, although Catelyn had always told him she saw much of him in their firstborn. Now, he easily saw and heard echoes of his younger self any time he had to stand before his father and speak something that wasn’t easy to say to the man but too important to leave unsaid. Rickard Stark had been a good man who loved his children, but he’d been so reserved that Ned had often left serious conversations with his father without truly knowing what his father had thought about his words or even about him. He reached out and clasped Robb’s arms.

“I will, son,” he promised. “If it takes the rest of my life, I will fix this. For your mother, for you and your brothers and sisters, and for me.” He gave a very brief, almost inaudible chuckle. “Your mother and I will fix it together,” he corrected. “She’d object to my insinuating I can do it all by myself. And God knows, I need her with me to do anything of real importance.”

“This is important,” Robb said.

“This is the most important thing I’ve ever done. And I’m a hundred percent in it, Robb. Forever.”

“I’m glad.”

“You’re a good man, Robb. And I’m proud of you.” He let go of Robb’s arms to pull him into a hug which Robb returned. “I love you, son.”

“I love you, too, Dad.” Ned didn’t think he imagined the way Robb’s voice broke slightly. Then Robb laughed and pushed him gently. “You better go talk to Mom. I told her I only needed you for a second, and I don’t want to make her mad at me. I already got one lecture today. Which I probably deserved,” he put in hurriedly. “But it is not fun to be on the receiving end of a Catelyn Stark takedown.”

Ned laughed. “No, it isn’t. And the worst part is knowing you deserve it.” He patted Robb’s back. “Go on and eat too many donuts with the rest of them. Jon picked them out, so I’m certain all your favorites are there.”

As Jon walked into the kitchen, Ned turned back toward the great room to find his wife . . . or ex-wife . . . waiting for him.

“I can’t stop thinking of you as my wife. Is that wrong?” he asked as he reached her.

“Right or wrong, I do the same thing,” she said. “A piece of paper doesn’t erase all those years.”

“You needed to speak to me?”

She bit her lip. “Ashara Dayne bought those presents, didn’t she? The ones for the kids.”

“Cat,” Ned said with a sigh, fighting down irritation.

“I know that my repeatedly asking questions about her when you’ve assured me that nothing happened between you is aggravating you, Ned. And I almost talked myself out of asking you about this. But . . . rightly or wrongly, it bothers me. And if I’m going to be honest with you, I have to let you see how much it bothers me that that woman bought our children gifts.”

“I bought them, Cat. She just picked them out.”

“You told me she simply taught you to use Amazon and you did the rest.”

“I was talking about the Santa gifts. You picked those out. They were easy. But . . . you’ve always picked out gifts for the kids from us. Or we went shopping together for all of it. I realized I had no clue what to get any of them. And the few things I might have thought of, you’d already put on the Santa list.”

“I told you in my email that you could use some of those to . . .”

“No. That was Santa. That’s something that’s always been ours. And I couldn’t take any of it away from you.”

She looked at him skeptically.

“And I was being stubborn. That email made me feel like you believed I was incapable of buying our children Christmas gifts. I wanted to prove you wrong.” He shook his head. “Only you weren’t wrong, so I had Ashara come over, and she asked me questions about what the kids liked, and I gave some pretty lame generic answers, to be honest, except about Rickon’s love of the Avengers. Then we sat down with my laptop and she found things for me to say yes or no on.”

“Sounds very cozy.”

“Catelyn . . .”

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I want to let this go, I really do. And yet I also want to punish you for letting her become so much a part of your life so quickly. For ever turning to her in the first place. I hate that I keep doing it, but . . .” She gave an almost imperceptible shrug. “It hurts, Ned.”

He put his arms around her, and she didn’t pull away. “I wish I knew how to make it stop hurting, Cat. I really do. I never meant any of it to hurt you, and . . . she’s just a friend.”

She did pull away from him just a bit then. “No,” she said firmly. “She’s not. She is someone you once loved enough to want to marry. And yes I know that was a long time ago, but it does put her solidly in the ‘more than friend’ category. You were also lovers.” She dropped her voice to almost a whisper. “The only lover you’ve ever had other than me. To learn that you turned to her for emotional support when our marriage was falling apart nearly killed me, Ned. And every time I learn about yet another time she’s supported and cared for you the way I’m supposed to be supporting and caring for you . . . it’s like being kicked in the gut again.”

“Cat, I swear I never intended to hurt you. God, you’re the last person on the planet I ever want to hurt. You’re everything to me, Cat.”

She smiled at him a little sadly. “I believe you, Ned. That you didn’t mean to hurt me. But you were reaching out to her for something you felt you couldn’t get from me. And you started that before you ever moved out. I can’t promise to be entirely rational about the woman in every circumstance, and I need you to understand that. I’m trying. But in trying to work through this particular issue, I may need to ask you to explain things or reassure me even after you believe you’ve done so enough.”

 _Whatever you did wrong, you do whatever it takes to fix it. Whatever she needs to fix this trust thing she talked about, you give it to her._ Robb’s words echoed in his mind. “I’ll answer you a thousand times if you need me to, Cat. I promise.”

“Good,” she said very softly. “Because I need to ask you one other thing, and it’s not because I don’t believe you—it’s just that I thought about it for so long, and I just can’t stop wondering, and . . .”

“What is it, Cat? Ask me anything?”

“Where did you sleep when you lived with her?” she blurted out quickly. “Those two weeks, Ned. Where did you sleep?”

“Cat! I’ve told you I never slept with her then or after. I’ve told you over and over, and you’ve said you believed me.”

“She only has a two bedroom apartment, and I know Jon slept in the guest room because I heard Arya laughing at him complaining about the bed.” The words came out in a rush, and Ned knew she’d kept them bottled up a long time. He could also see that she felt guilty for asking him the question in spite of her hurt and fears since she’d already assured him she believed that he’d never had sex with Ashara. He wondered now just how much force of will that belief had required of her if she’d been puzzled about the sleeping arrangements in the apartment.

“You’re right,” he said softly. “After the first night, Jon got the bed—it’s not a bed, really, more a horrible sort of futon thing—in the guestroom. I slept in there the first night, and Jon took the sofa in the living room. My back hurt so badly I could barely walk when I got up the next morning, and so I pled the infirmity of age to steal the sofa from Jon for the remainder of our time there. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but at least it didn’t leave me crippled.”

“You slept on the sofa,” she repeated.

“I did,” he assured her.

“Thank God,” she breathed.

“I thought you believed me,” he said, raising a brow.

“I did,” she insisted. “It’s just . . . Arya was laughing at Jon’s texts about the bed at first, but then she frowned and got very quiet. Later I heard her telling Robb that Jon had been the one sleeping in Ashara Dayne’s guestroom, and that she knew from when she was there the one time that the only other bedroom was Ashara’s. I . . . I should have stopped them from speculating about and vilifying you and that woman, but I just turned and ran back down the hall before they saw me, and shut myself up in the bedroom. Only every time I looked at our bed, I imagined . . .” She’d been looking away from him since she spoke of Arya telling Robb her suspicions, but she turned back to him now with another tiny shrug. “It hurts.”

Ned now felt like the one who’d been kicked in the gut, but he had a strong suspicion that he deserved it. “I’m sorry,” he said. He didn’t know what else to say. 

“I know,” she said. 

“Have you been thinking about this since the kids opened their presents?” he asked her somewhat incredulously, thinking of the lengthy conversation they’d had with the kids and how amazingly well she had handled it after all the presents were opened.

“No. It bothered me a bit—more than a bit--when I realized she must have been the one to get those presents, but I put it out of my mind once Rickon declared Jon wouldn’t need to go online to play video games with the others because you and he would be coming home now. Our children’s understanding of this situation is far more important than my own insecurities. I honestly had forgotten all about it until I saw Rickon’s backpack lying there, and I thought about what I’d said to the kids. I meant all of that, by the way. And I realized if I didn’t ask you about the damn presents I’d be doing what I said we couldn’t do anymore. Hiding my insecurity and jealousy because I didn’t trust you to accept it very well. And I can’t do that anymore. Which meant I then had to ask about the stupid bedrooms because that’s the thing that’s been eating me alive even though I know—and I do know, Ned—that you haven’t lied to me since we’ve been here.”

"But I've lied to you in the past,” he said softly. “And that makes it hard for you to believe me now.”

She nodded. “I do believe you,” she said again. “But sometimes . . . I have to work at it, Ned. And before this past spring, that was never the case. And it’s . . . hard. And I hate it.”

He sighed, realizing as she spoke that she wasn’t only talking about his lie regarding Jon but his lies of omission as he’d hidden his relationship with Ashara from her as their marriage spiraled downward. “I hate it, too,” he said finally. “But I have only myself to blame for it. I can’t ask you to trust me, Cat. Trust is earned, and I’ve destroyed yours with my lies. I can’t change what I’ve done. But I promise you that I will do everything in my power to regain your trust. And if you can’t quite believe in my promises? Well, I’ll not fault for that. I’ll simply keep them anyway.”

“We’d better go into the kitchen. They’re probably worrying about us.” She shook her head. “We’ve really done a number on them, you know.”

“I know they’re happier this morning than they’ve been in long time. Regardless of any lingering confusion or anger.”

“They want you home.”

“I want to be home. When you’re ready. I want to be home with you.”

She bit her lip. “We’re coming home from my father’s on the twenty-ninth. I can start looking for marriage counselors then. Maybe have something set up for after the first of the year when you come back from Winterfell?”

“I’d like that,” he said.

“No you don’t,” she laughed. “You hate the idea, and you’re going to be perfectly miserable, I know. But thank you for agreeing it, and if you just give it a chance—go into it with at least a little bit of open-mindedness, I think you might be surprised.”

“Cat, I admit that the idea of telling some stranger my deep, dark thoughts and greatest fears is about as appealing as sticking needles in my eyes, but I’ll do it. And for you, I’ll try to keep an open mind about it. I told you—I’ll do whatever you need me to. I love you.”

Her eyes teared up again, but she laughed once more. “I love you, too, Ned. More than you could possibly imagine. But we really should join the children. If there are any donuts left!”

He pulled her close to him. “I don’t need donuts. I need you. And you’re driving away entirely too soon, so forgive me if I can think of something better to do with my mouth right now than to stuff it full of sugary breakfast pastries.” He kissed her before she could reply.

She laughed against his lips, but didn’t push him away. Instead, she wound her arms around his neck and returned his kiss with enthusiasm. He nearly forgot he had children as they sat there in each other’s arms kissing each other breathless until a rather loud shout from entirely too close by caused both of them to jump.

“Sansa wins!” Rickon’s rather shrill voice called out.

“Rickon!” Ned admonished the boy who stood no further than five feet from them more sternly than he intended. “What are you shouting about?”

“You’re kissing,” Rickon said in an alarmingly accusatory tone. “Divorced people don’t kiss.”

Catelyn beckoned him to the sofa to sit between them. “Oh? Is this more wisdom from Tommen Baratheon?”

“Tommen says . . .”

“I don’t care what Tommen says,” Catelyn said firmly, but not unkindly. “Your parents are not his parents. And our divorce is entirely different from theirs. Do you understand?”

“I don’t want you to be divorced at all. Divorce is bad,” Rickon replied with the certainty of judgment only a child can possess.

“Divorce is bad,” Catelyn agreed with him. “And I’m sorry that we’ve put you through it. But I promise you that whatever happens from here on out, our family is going to get better not worse. And as for Tommen, well, the sad thing is that his parents honestly don’t love each other, Rickon. Yours do. And that makes everything different. Okay?”

“Okay,” he said hesitantly.

“And you know you aren’t allowed to shout from room to room,” Catelyn added, raising a brow. “What has your sister won, anyway?”

“Oh, nothing. She was just right.”

“Right about what?” Ned asked. “Did they send you in here to fetch us? Or to spy on us?” He narrowed his eyes as he asked that last, and Rickon smiled rather sheepishly.

“Both, maybe?” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “They didn’t really send me in. Arya just made Robb let go of my arm and let me come in.”

“And Robb had hold of you why?” Catelyn asked patiently. Getting information out of Rickon was often a prolonged process.

He huffed as if he found this entire conversation very taxing. “Almost all of the good donuts are gone,” he pronounced. As Ned tried unsuccessfully to fit that response to Catelyn’s question, Rickon continued. “And you were taking forever, so I jumped up to get you, but Robb grabbed my arm and said you were talking and needed privacy. But I said you had privacy for a million years in your room this morning when they wouldn’t let me go back in and get you after I got everybody awake, and Bran kind of giggled and said ‘I don’t think it’s that kind of privacy’, and Sansa said his name like how Mom says our names when we say something she doesn’t like, and then Arya said ‘What if they’re fighting?’” He stopped speaking to take a big breath.

“And Robb kept hold of your arm through all that?” Ned asked him.

“Yeah, or else I would have been in here already,” Rickon responded as if that should have been obvious. “Anyway, Jon said he didn’t think you were fighting, but Robb was right about the privacy thing because you had lots to talk about, and when I said you both talked this morning too much already, he said maybe you needed to talk to just each other. So I reminded him you had a million years to talk to each other in your bedroom, and Bran started to say something else but everybody except Arya said his name real loud to shut him up. Arya was doing her lip bitey thing, but then she said that when you talk too long, you fight, and Robb should let go of my arm because you wouldn’t get mad at me for interrupting you. And Bran said you weren’t yelling, and Arya said you don’t have to yell to be fighting, and I said I didn’t hear any talking at all, and Sansa said maybe you were kissing. And Arya said she hoped you were because that was better than fighting, and I told Robb he was squeezing my arm, and Arya said, ‘Let him go and we’ll know what they’re doing.’ So he did.” Then Rickon clamped his mouth shut, considering his tale told in full.

Ned met Catelyn’s eyes over their son’s head and saw the same mixture of amusement, affection, and worry for their children that likely showed in his own eyes. He took a deep breath, turned his face in the direction and deliberately broke one of his wife’s rules of civilized indoor behavior. “We have captured your spy!” he shouted. “He is being held for a ransom of one Bavarian Crème donut and . . .” He looked at Catelyn who mouthed ‘glazed’ at him while trying not to laugh. “One glazed donut. Have the ransom items on the kitchen table in front of our chairs immediately or we will give the spy unlimited, unsupervised access to everyone’s new Christmas presents at once.”

“What are you talking about?” Rickon asked him as Catelyn collapsed into laughter.

Before Ned could answer, Robb’s voice called out. “Your donuts await you! Please bring the spy back to the kitchen with you now!”

“You’re crazy, you know,” Catelyn said as her laughter subsided. “But laughter is much better than worry.”

“True. And as Arya says, kissing is better than fighting.” He leaned over Rickon to kiss her briefly. “There,” he said as he stood up and tossed Rickon over his shoulder. “Sansa wins again. Let’s return the spy and eat our Christmas donuts.”

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Christmas donut breakfast was a rather celebratory, if somewhat silly affair. The kids had all grinned when she and Ned had appeared with their captured spy. Rickon’s shout of ‘Sansa wins!’ had clearly been understood by all of them, and while their reactions to catching her and Ned kissing over the years had generally ranged from eye rolls to fake gagging noises to exhortations to ‘get a room,’ they all seemed quite pleased to know their parents had been engaging in that particular activity this morning, given the current situation.

Everyone ate too many sugary confections and many crazy pictures were taken of various arrangements of pajama clad Starks making faces at and with their siblings as the ubiquitous iPhones were pulled out. Catelyn allowed the phones as long as they were being used strictly as cameras. She held Christmas morning as an exclusively family activity. The kids had two long car rides ahead of them during which they could text anyone they liked and post all of the pictures they wanted. No one mentioned divorce or asked any hard questions. There were a few teasing references to kissing in the lively conversation which she let pass with only a smile. She still feared allowing the kids to get too excited about a quick and complete reconciliation that might prove more difficult to achieve than any of them wished, but she’d spoken truthfully when she’d told Ned that laughter was better than worry so she decided to simply enjoy laughing with her family this morning and leave the worry for another time. She had two long car rides today, too, and her mind would almost undoubtedly be spinning over all that had happened here at Winterfell and what lay ahead as she drove. She preferred to fill it with the smiles of the people she loved best in the world while she had all of them together.

When she finally looked up at the kitchen clock and realized that she should have been herding the children to dress for travel and get packed up an hour ago, she found herself still reluctant to do it. She loved her father and uncle and siblings, and she wanted to see them. But this was her family. And it truly felt like her family for the first time in so long that she couldn’t stand the thought of bringing an end to their Winterfell celebration. Ned saw her look at the clock, and squeezed her hand.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “We’ll all be okay.”

Taking a deep breath, she made the immensely unpopular announcement that everyone needed to head upstairs to prepare for their departure. The initial grumblings were silenced quickly by a simple look from Ned. She sat beside him and watched their children file out of the kitchen.

“I’d better go help Rickon,” she sighed.

“I’ll get him. You go on and get dressed yourself. The clothes you wore here are all clean thanks to Jon and Sansa.”

She smiled. She’d been making do with clothing items she’d left here over the years, but Sansa had gathered up the clothes she’d arrived in and tossed them in the washer at some point on their first day. She was the only child who ever did laundry at the house in King’s Landing, and Jon had apparently learned the skill since he and Ned moved out. It had taken the two of them together to figure out the ancient washing machine model at Winterfell, and Catelyn was touched by their thoughtfulness.

“I suppose we should be grateful that at least two out of the six have mastered laundry,” she laughed. “I’m making Jon teach Robb as soon as he’s back at the house on a laundry day. That boy has no excuse not to learn at his age!”

“Sansa won’t teach him?”

Catelyn laughed again. “Robb will listen to Jon.”

“Point taken. But, go on, Cat. Get dressed. I’ll get the kitchen and then Rickon.” He grinned at her. “I can stay in this high fashion Christmas onesie all day if I choose.”

“But you won’t!” God it felt good to laugh with him. “I’ve already showered. I can dress in no time. Let’s tackle the kitchen together, and then if you manage Rickon while I dress, you can get out of that thing as I know you are dying to do.” She smirked at him. “You will, however, look adorable in it all over the kids’ social media posts.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t remind me.” 

They cleaned up the kitchen very quickly in companionable silence, but Catelyn knew that both of them were purposely refusing to talk about the fact that they’d be saying goodbye entirely too soon. Goodbye seemed almost terrifying. This tenuous connection, this shared confession of love and hope, was still so new in the wake of the hurtful words and painful separation. She honestly didn’t know what would happen with distance between them once more. It frightened her more than she wanted to admit even to herself. But if they weren’t strong enough to stand the separation, they weren’t strong enough to move forward together. She kept reminding herself of that.

They walked upstairs together when they’d finished and separated at the top of the stairs, Ned heading to Rickon’s room and she to the guestroom where her clothes had been placed. Nothing of hers was there, however. Shaking her head at her children’s lack of subtlety, she walked to the master bedroom and unsurprisingly found her clothes, purse, and the toothbrush she’d been using had been put there—likely by Sansa as some of the cosmetics her daughter had lent her were there, too.

She’d barely gotten out of her pajamas and into her clothes when Ned came into the room after knocking softly.

“You got Rickon ready that quickly?” she asked him.

“I honestly didn’t have much to do. Jon had him pretty well sorted before I ever came upstairs. Like me, Jon gets to bum around in his pajamas today, if he wants to.”

She laughed. “Only you don’t want to! Go on and get dressed, Ned.”

“I’d rather we both get undressed,” he said, looking at her in a manner that left doubt that he was imagining her naked already. 

She felt a rush of heat, but made herself look toward the clock. “We can’t. You know we can’t. I have to go, Ned. I don’t want to get into Riverrun at midnight!”

“I don’t want you to go to Riverrun at all,” he said. Then before she could protest, he held up his hands. “But I know you have to go. And even if you’d rather not leave quite so quickly, you want to go. It’s Christmas, Cat. You should be with your family.”

“I’m with my family here.”

“You are,” he said softly, coming to stand directly in front of her and wipe a stray strand of hair from her face. “But they’re your family, too, Cat. They’re important to you. And to our kids.”

That made her remember something. “Our kids!” she suddenly exclaimed, and Ned looked at her, obviously wondering at her sudden outburst.

“Jon!” she said. “My father invited him to Riverrun. When you heard me on the phone with him yesterday.”

“Oh,” Ned said, and his face got very still. “You didn’t say anything about it.”

“You came in, and we started talking and . . . Ned, I’m sorry. My mind has been so full of you that I’m afraid there hasn’t been much room for anything else. But Daddy did specifically tell me to invite Jon and let him know he’s welcome.”

Ned looked at her for a long moment without saying anything. Then he said, “I don’t suppose I can be too upset that your mind’s been full of me.” He still sounded somewhat distant though.

“I really am sorry. I forgot. I didn’t intend to say anything to Jon until I’d spoken to you. But . . . you and I had so much to speak about. And then . . . well, we were more interested in communication that didn’t involve much speaking.” He remained quiet. “Ned? I won’t even tell him about Daddy’s invite if you don’t want me to.”

“No,” Ned said quickly. “Do tell him. As long as . . .” He hesitated. “You’re certain Hoster won’t . . . hold me against him. I mean, I don’t want Jon to feel uncomfortable.”

“No one’s ever made Jon feel uncomfortable at Riverrun,” Catelyn said firmly. “Well . . . except for Lysa. And I’m afraid she’s made all of the children uncomfortable at times. They don’t let her bother them. My father, uncle, and brother all adore Jon. You know that. They welcomed him long before they welcomed you back after . . . .”

“I know. I just . . .” He shrugged. “Jon’s hardly been out of my sight since we . . . left.” He said the word ‘left’ with a great deal of regret and guilt. “Except for when I’m at work and he’s at school, we’ve pretty much been together.”

She took his hand. “You said you wanted to spend some time on your own. Remember?”

He gave her a rather weak smile. “To figure out how to live without you,” he said. “I have no desire to do that anymore. Not that I ever really did.” He stood a bit straighter. “Still, I have to stand on my own. I can’t keep using Jon or any of the children as a crutch to get through the days without you. If I want you back, you deserve a man who can stand on his own two feet and face up to his sins when he looks in the mirror.”

“We both need to be stronger on our own, Ned. It can only make us stronger together.”

He nodded. “Ask him. He’ll want to go. If he tries to turn you down, it’ll only be because he’s worried about me. I’ll tell him I’m a big boy.”

She couldn’t help but laugh at him as he did a perfect imitation of Rickon declaring himself a big boy, and it was made all the funnier by the ridiculous Christmas onesie he was wearing. “Get dressed, Ned,” she said, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “And we’ll talk to Jon together.”

He nodded again and turned away to dress without saying anything else. She knew he was uneasy about letting Jon go with them regardless of the brave front he was putting up. She hoped he was only uneasy because it truly meant saying goodbye to his entire family within the next hour or so and being left alone here in Winterfell, but she couldn’t help wondering if some part of him still feared that she would tell Jon something he didn’t want her to if he wasn’t around to prevent it. She’d seen the momentary panic in his eyes when she’d told the children this morning that they deserved the truth and she’d give it to them the best she could. She knew he wanted to trust her. He said he knew he’d been wrong not to, and she believed him. But she feared that what he knew in his head didn’t always control what he felt about the situation. She’d have to try very hard not to resent that and to give him the reassurance he needed when it came to her commitment about keeping his secret from Jon or anyone else. She certainly needed reassurance from him on any number of things. She only wished that he would tell her when he had doubts instead of leaving her to guess.

Rickon came bouncing into the room as Ned was changing, asking how his Pop-a-Shot was going to fit in the car. He was less than pleased when she told him it had to stay at Winterfell for awhile, but somewhat mollified when she promised that he could play it right up until they left, that they’d come back to Winterfell on some weekends through the rest of the winter to ski so he could play it again then, and that they’d haul it back to King’s Landing and set it up in his bedroom before spring. 

“Will Daddy help set it up?” he asked her.

“Absolutely,” came Ned’s voice from behind her as he walked out of the master bath. “I’ll do the heavy work and your mother will supervise. You can be quality control.”

“What’s that?” Rickon asked.

“You play with it and tell us if we set it up as well as Santa did.”

Rickon grinned at his father. “I can do that.”

Catelyn smiled, too, and then said, “Go on now and play while you can. But could you please find Jon first, and tell him we’d like to see him in our room?”

“Okay.” The little boy left them then, yelling, “Jon!” as soon as he got into the hall.

Catelyn shook her head and looked toward Ned to find him looking at her with a little smile on his face. “You called it our room,” he said.

She shrugged. “I never could stop thinking of it that way. And I guess after last night, I stopped trying to make myself stop.”

“Cat . . . I’ve been thinking, and I . . .”

“Rickon said you wanted to see me?” Jon appeared in the doorway Rickon had left open, appearing rather hesitant to cross the threshold. 

“Yes, Jon,” Catelyn said. “Come on in and close the door.”

He looked even more reluctant after that, and she smiled at him. “You aren’t in trouble. Come on in.”

Jon stepped inside and closed the door. Then he looked toward Ned. “What do you need, Dad?”

Years had taught him that when Ned and Catelyn spoke with him together, Ned did most of the talking. He was Jon’s parent, and Catelyn had made it fairly clear to the boy that she wasn’t from the time he was very small. However she came to regret that and regardless of the fact that she had always both cared for him and disciplined him in Ned’s absence, she’d always felt she had no right to ‘parent’ him when Ned was right there. This time, however, Ned referred Jon to her.

“Catelyn has something to ask you,” he said simply, and Jon turned his cautious grey eyes toward her.

“It’s actually Grandpa Hoster who has something to ask you,” she said quickly. Jon had called her father ‘Grandpa’ all his life. “He called me, and when he found out I was at Winterfell, he asked me to invite you to come stay for Christmas just like always.”

Jon just looked at her a moment. “Me?” he finally said. “He wants me to come?”

“Yes, Jon,” Catelyn said. “He loves you. Everyone there loves you.” She knew that wasn’t strictly true if she included Lysa, but Lysa had issues with Catelyn’s own children so she simply didn’t include her.

“But . . . with you and Dad . . . I mean . . . aren’t they gonna be mad?”

“Not at you, Jon,” Catelyn said softly. “Never at you.”

“But . . .”

“They’re all furious with me, Jon,” Ned put in. “But they’ve been angry with me before, and they never put that on you.”

Catelyn swallowed hard to hear Ned say that aloud. It hurt to consider that all those years ago when she’d not been able to keep the bitterness out of her heart, he’d realized her family treated Jon with more affection than she did. He’d never called her out on it.

“Did you tell him about . . . I mean that you two are . . . well, kind of together now?” Jon asked her, clearly not knowing precisely how to put it.

“No,” Catelyn told him. “I think that’s a conversation best had in person.” She hesitated, biting her lip a moment. “I’ve told you that the current problems between your father and me are not to do with you. I’ve told my father and Uncle Brynden and Edmure the same thing. They’re my family which means they’re incapable of being impartial when it comes to any trouble between Ned and me. He’s going to get the blame in their eyes, I’m afraid. And I don’t know how my father, in particular, is going to react my telling him that we’re working to reconcile, to be honest. But I do know that no one in Riverrun will say anything bad about your father to any of you children.” She smiled at him. “I’ve threatened them, for one thing. But more importantly, they love all of you too much to say things that will hurt you.”

Jon nodded. “What about you? Do you want me to come?”

The question hurt, but she understood his asking. “Yes. I want you to come. Very much. But only if it’s what you want to do, Jon. That’s why I had Rickon send you here. If I’d asked you in front of any of your brothers or sisters, you’d be getting pressured into going.”

“Jon,” Ned said softly. “Cat never wanted you to leave the house. You know that. I just took you. I . . . I’ve been wrong about a great many things. But I’ll be fine if you want to continue your Christmas with your brothers and sisters in Riverrun.”

“But . . . we’re supposed to go to the Cerwyns’ tonight.”

Ned looked at him appraisingly. “Are you telling me you’d rather go to a formal gathering at the Cerwyns’ rather than spend several days with your brothers and sisters and all the Tullys at Riverrun?”

“But you . . .”

“Know the way to the Cerwyns’ quite well. I can get there on my own. I don’t want you to stay here for my benefit, Jon. I’m the adult, remember? Even if I haven’t always acted like it recently.”

“Are you sure, Dad? Because I . . .”

“I am positive.”

Jon turned back toward her. “Are you sure there’s room in the car, Cat?”

“Well, there’s a seat for you,” she laughed. “Luggage space is a little tight so don’t pack as much as Sansa does.” Jon laughed at that. “We can leave most of the Santa presents here for now, and once we get back to King’s Landing, we can split up into two cars for the drive to Riverrun so everyone has plenty of room.”

“I really would like to go,” Jon said then, looking between the two of them with excitement beginning to show on his face. “But I don’t want to leave you all alone, Dad. It just seems . . .”

“It’s fine, Jon,” Ned said again. “This Christmas has already given me more than I dared to hope for.” He reached for Catelyn’s hand, and she watched Jon’s eyes look at their clasped hands. “Now I could honestly use some time alone to think about what I need to do to make certain I don’t waste the chance I’ve been given.”

Jon nodded slowly, precisely like Ned did when he was considering someone’s words. “Okay. If you’re sure that . . .”

“Go get dressed, Jon,” Ned interrupted. “You can’t go to Riverrun in those pajamas. They’re almost as ridiculous as mine.”

Ned was grinning, and Jon grinned back at him. Catelyn was struck forcefully by the physical resemblance between the two of them, but it honestly didn’t bother her. She found herself surprisingly happy as she looked at the pair of them. “You don’t have to rush, Jon, but Ned’s right. You’d better get started.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and her happiness was increased as he grinned at her as widely as he had at Ned.

As Jon left the room, she turned toward Ned to find him looking at her. “What have you been thinking?” she asked.

“That I love you very much.”

She smiled at him. “I’m glad. I love you, too. But I don’t think that’s what you were about to say when Jon came in. When you said you’d been thinking.”

“Oh.” His face became serious, and he took a deep breath. “You said you’re coming back from your father’s on the twenty-ninth, right?”

“Yes,” she answered, uncertain where he was going with this.

“Any chance the kids might want to stay longer?”

"None at all, as far as Robb and Sansa are concerned. Margaery Tyrell is hosting a party that night that it seems the entire high school is attending.”

“I thought the Tyrells had their ridiculously large bash on New Year’s Eve every year.”

“They do. But that’s Mace and Alerie’s party—primarily intended for large numbers of drunken adults. I wouldn’t even let Sansa attend that one unless one of us were there. It appears Margaery convinced her parents to allow her to host her own alcohol-free, teen-friendly version of her parents’ soiree on Friday night. Sansa’s already told me fifteen times we have to leave Riverrun very early that morning.”

“Alcohol free?” Ned asked suspiciously.

“At a large gathering of teenagers, I’m certain someone will try to smuggle it in, but the Tyrells won’t be serving any, and Margaery’s parents, older brothers and even her grandmother are going to be there supervising.” Ned scowled, and she shook her head. “I know the Tyrells are not exactly your favorite people in the world, but they are responsible parents, Ned.”

“Responsible parents would know their child had a tattoo,” he muttered.

“Not necessarily,” she said lightly and then laughed at the near panic-stricken expression on her face. “No, none of ours has any tattoos that I’m aware of, but Edmure got one right after his high school graduation that my father didn’t know about for at least five years when poor Ed finally got tired of swimming in a t-shirt! The point is that this party isn’t some unsupervised, drunken bash, and besides—Robb will be there. He’ll look after Sansa. Actually, I imagine Jon will go now, too, since he’ll be with us, so poor Sansa won’t have the slightest hope of sneaking a beer or a cigarette!”

“Damn.”

“Damn? What are you concerned about, Ned? And why would you want the children to stay longer in Riverrun, anyway? I know you’re going to miss Jon even if you were planning to eventually be alone here, so why would you want him to stay away even longer? I can have him back up here for you before New Year’s Eve if you like.”

He shook his head. “That’s not it. I will miss Jon, but I’m afraid I’ve gotten used to missing my children since I left you, Cat. Jon’s as entitled to enjoy Christmas with his family as the rest of them are. And I do want a few days alone. I need to think about all that we’ve said these past few days. Without any of the kids to distract me. But . . . I’m going to miss you. I’m dreading your walking out that door in a little while, and I honestly think I’ll lose my mind if I don’t see you again once you’re back in King’s Landing.”

“Ned, we’ve barely seen each other in months.”

“I know. And it was hell. But a hell I thought I had to learn to live with. And now . . .” He took a deep breath. “You asked me not rush you, and I won’t. But we need time, too, Cat. Time together. We need to talk to each other. I don’t want this . . . connection . . . that we’ve just barely gotten back to . . . break.”

“It won’t,” she said quickly, moving to take his hands and physically connect with him. “We won’t let it, Ned.”

He nodded. “I just . . . I want to spend time with you. Alone. I love our children more than life itself, but it’s impossible to concentrate only on each other when they’re with us or even near us. You know that.”

It was her turn to nod. “I do know that. But, we have managed to come a long way while surrounded by them these past few days.”

“Yes, but they’ve always been in our thoughts. Will they hear us? What are they thinking? What are they feeling? We have to watch what we say and do because they’re always watching us and we’re always concerned about how we’re affecting them. At the risk of sounding selfish, I need to have you all to myself. And I think you need that, too. If we’re starting back at the beginning, then it has to start with just us. We have to know that we can be just us together, instead of always being just their parents together.”

She let his words sink in and realized he had a point. So much of her love for Ned was all mixed in with their shared love of the children now it was impossible to separate, but at the core of their relationship, they did need to be just Ned and Cat. “I want that, too,” she whispered. “But I honestly don’t think I can ever keep them entirely out of my thoughts whether they’re with us or not.”

He smiled and ran his hand down the length of her hair as he’d so loved doing for almost as long as she’d known him. “I am quite certain there were some moments in Winterfell this Christmas when you didn’t think of them at all,” he said softly.

“Ned! I didn’t mean . . .” She shook her head. “I thought you said we needed this alone time to talk.”

“To talk and to do other things as well. We need all of it, Cat. We need to bring ourselves back to who we are together. And, of course, you won’t stop thinking about the children. Neither will I. But we could at least stop second-guessing and carefully evaluating our every word and action based on the fact that one of them might somehow be hurt. We could be more open with each other. That’s what I really mean. And I believe that’s what you want.”

She did want that. She wanted it more than she could say. He was such a private man, and she respected that. But there was a difference between his inborn need for privacy and intentionally closing parts of himself off from her which is what he’d been doing for so long now. She still feared he couldn’t easily stop doing it even if he wanted to, and yet here he was—telling her he wanted some time alone with her to be more open. “Maybe I can come here,” she said.

“What?”

“Maybe I could come here. Not right away, of course. I’d need to get them settled in and make certain there’s plenty of food in the house . . . but maybe by New Year’s Eve if I can . . .” She was talking as much to herself as to him, and realized she’d been pacing back and forth thoughtfully as she spoke when he interrupted her.

“You’d leave them in the house alone?”

She stopped and raised an eyebrow at him. “Over New Year’s Eve? Never. I’m not crazy, Ned. They’re good kids, but they’re normal teenagers which is to say . . . I only trust them not to be idiots up to a point. And Rickon needs an actual grown-up anyway. I’m not sure how he’ll take being away from both of us.” She paused and considered for a moment that perhaps this was a terrible idea. Rickon was so young and confused already. How could she even consider leaving him at home without either parent right now?

“You’re going to chew your lip off.” 

She’d drifted into her own thoughts again, but she looked up at Ned when he spoke to find him smiling at her. She hadn’t even realized she was biting her lip, but then she usually didn’t. It’s a habit she’d had all her life and couldn’t seem to break. Ned liked to tease her about it, but had always assured her he found it sexy. She smiled back at him, and he took her hands again.

“Now stop worrying about Rickon for a moment, and tell me what was going through that head of yours before I interrupted you.”

She only hesitated a moment. “I could call my uncle.”

“Brynden?” he asked.

She nodded. “I’d never leave the kids with Lysa, and Edmure and Roslin have their hands full already with little Elmo plus I can’t imagine she’d want to come up and take on our crowd while six months pregnant in any event. Daddy’s simply not in good enough health anymore. That leaves Uncle Brynden. God knows he’ll be looking for a break from my dad by then, and he loves the kids but doesn’t let them walk all over him. And they love him.”

“You think he’d do it? Won’t he have New Year’s plans?”

“I don’t know. But I could ask. If . . . you don’t think it’s a terrible idea for me to leave the children at all.”

“Cat! I wanted you to leave them in Riverrun!” he exclaimed with a laugh. “I mean, I love them dearly. You know that. But we need this, my love. And if your uncle is willing, I’ll grovel as much as he feels is necessary.”

She was so struck by hearing him call her ‘my love’ again, as naturally as if the past several months hadn’t happened, that she took a moment to register the words after that. “Well, I imagine he’ll make you suffer at some point,” she sighed. “But I think it’s best that you don’t speak to him at all right now. Let me call him, and we’ll see if he’s even available.”

He grabbed her to him and kissed her. “I do love you. And honestly, I think the kids will be in favor of anything that puts the two of us in the same place right now,” he said, grinning at her.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she said softly. Just having him use his old term of endearment for her had her wanting to bring him to Riverrun and then home right now. She knew very well how the kids would interpret the two of them spending a couple days alone at Winterfell. “They’re going to think you’ll move right back home when we return.”

His grin disappeared. “We are going to make it, Cat,” he said almost solemnly. “Perhaps not as quickly as the children would like it. Or even as quickly as I would hope. But, I’m not worried about disappointing them in the long run. Because I vow to you that I will do whatever it takes to be the man who deserves your love, not just the lucky son of a bitch who inexplicably received it.”

His words made her catch her breath, and she closed her eyes to stop the tears. She loved him so much. “I believe you,” she said softly when she could find her voice. “But I’m still scared. Not as scared as I was, mind you. I just . . .”

“I’m not pushing, Cat. I told you I wouldn’t, and I won’t.” They still had their arms around each other, and he released his hold on her then, pushing her gently from his embrace. “We’ve got all the time in the world. Now, I’ll go see how the wild things are doing and see just how much stuff they want me to cram into that car, and you give Brynden a call. Okay?”

She nodded, and he kissed the top of her head and turned to go.

“Ned?” she called after him, and he turned back to face her. “It’s never been luck. Don’t ever think that. I’ve loved you because of everything you are. I still do.”

He gave her a small smile, and then left the bedroom, leaving her to collect herself and figure out just what she was going to say to her uncle. She picked her cell phone up off the dresser, took several deep breaths and hit the contact that said ‘Blackfish.’ Robb, somewhere around age twelve, finding his great-uncle’s nickname both hilarious and pretty cool had changed his name in her phone contacts, and she’d never changed it back.

Brynden answered almost immediately. “Cat? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Uncle Brynden. I just needed to talk to you. Are you somewhere private?”

“Yes. But why do you need to talk to me privately? What’s that bastard done now? I swear to God, Cat, if he’s . . .”

“Nothing! And don’t call Ned filthy names! I need to tell . . .”

“You sound upset. What’s he done to upset you now?”

“Nothing!” She nearly shouted the word that time. “If I sound upset, it’s because you’re upsetting me! Will you let me speak, please?” She loved her uncle dearly, and ordinarily she found him far more reasonable and easier to talk to than her father on most issues. But when it came to being overprotective of her, he was equal to, if not worse than, her father.

“Fine, go ahead and . . . Hey! What time is it? Shouldn’t you be on the road? You aren’t on your phone while you’re driving, are you?”

Catelyn took a deep breath. “No, Uncle Brynden. I am not driving, but we are leaving here very shortly. If you want me in Riverrun, let me speak and then I can get in my car and drive there.” She spoke clearly and patiently as if she were lecturing one of her children, and she heard her uncle chuckle.

“My apologies, my lady,” he told her with the exaggerated formality he’d often use to amuse Lysa and her when they were girls. “What do you need to talk to me about? I’m all ears.”

“Well, first of all, do you have plans for New Year’s Eve?”

“Why? You throwing a party?”

“Ha ha. Do you?”

“Not really. I’ve got a couple friends trying to get me come up to King’s Landing, but I really don’t see the appeal of running around to clubs all night and hitting on boys that look like they’re Robb’s or Jon’s age. I’m too old for that shit.”

She smiled and shook her head. “You’re not old. You’re just a grown-up. I’m a lot younger than you are, and I have no desire to hit on boys my children’s age either!” She heard him laugh again. “Seriously, though, I want to ask you for a favor, but only if you really don’t have any plans.”

“Other than watching Hoster fall asleep at 9:30 and then maybe having a scotch at the stroke of midnight by my lonesome, I have no plans at all. But if you’re asking me out on a date, I must remind you that while I am pretty sexy for an old guy, you are my niece and I don’t date women anyway.”

“Oh, for the love of God! You’re awful, you know that?”

“But you love me anyway. Seriously, Cat, there’s no one else I’d rather spend New Year’s Eve with if you just want some company. I know what it’s like on December 31st when you realize you no longer have the person you’ve always kissed at midnight. To quote your kids, it kinda sucks.”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “That’s not one of my favorite expressions of theirs, but it does. It really does.” It suddenly hit her that she was the reason Brynden didn’t have anyone to kiss at midnight. Well, one of the three reasons. When he’d moved back home to help her dad after her mother died, Hoster was adamantly opposed to his partner at the time coming with him. He, in fact, refused to have the man in the house lest the two of them corrupt the three children. She was too young to have been fully informed of all the details, but at some point, his partner had gotten tired of living alone and essentially sneaking around. He’d demanded that Brynden choose between him or his brother’s family. And Brynden had chosen them. Over the years, Hoster’s stance had softened considerably, and Brynden had even brought a few ‘friends’ as Hoster always called them to the house, but the man he’d loved had long since moved on. And when she’d married Ned, he’d told her to hang on to love tightly because you might just not get a second chance at it. She swallowed hard. She and Ned were getting a second chance. And she was going to make the most of it, however scared she might be.

“Cat? Are you still there?”

Brynden sounded concerned again, and she wondered how long she’d been silent.

“I’m here.” She took an enormous breath. “Ned and I still love each other.”

“And?”

“I mean . . . we still love each other.”

“Of course you do. You’ve loved each other for years. All anyone had to do was look at the two of you together to know that. That kind of love doesn’t just disappear. You’re getting divorced anyway. Not all relationships end because people don’t love each other, Little Cat. Some end because they simply don’t work, for one reason or another.”

She was silent a moment, taken aback by her uncle’s reactions to her words. “No,” she said finally. “It isn’t that the relationship didn’t work. It’s that we stopped appreciating how special what we have together is. We stopped working toward each other, and . . . we let it all go to hell, and now we want it back.”

“You want it back?” She could almost see him raising his brow. “Cat, I know this is hard for you. You’ve been married a long time and there is a lot of emotion between you. Forgiving him once, I could understand. I like the man, you know. And I honestly thought that was a one-time aberration brought on by terrible, grim situation. But this is too much. He may love you, but he doesn’t deserve you. Not after hurting you again.”

“Ned didn’t cheat on me,” Catelyn said firmly.

“The very existence of our sweet Jon says otherwise, my girl.”

“I mean now!” Catelyn nearly shouted. “This . . . distance between us . . . the arguments and misunderstandings and horrible things we’ve said to each other have nothing to do with infidelity. Ned hasn’t been with anyone except me since . . .” She closed her eyes tightly and forced the lie through her lips. “Since Jon’s mother in the war. And we got past that years ago. If you want to be angry at him for walking out on me, fine. I’m still angry at him about that. But don’t bring ancient history into it.”

Brynden was silent for a long moment, but Catelyn waited for him to speak. “So what was it, Little Cat? What on earth possessed that man to walk out on you and file for divorce?”

She wondered how much to say. She couldn’t tell the whole truth of course, and she didn’t want to risk her uncle hating Ned by telling him simply that he’d been lying to her about something for years. “We stopped confiding in each other somewhere along the way,” she said finally. “We kept all our fears and worst thoughts to ourselves, and you can’t possibly keep intimacy strong when you’re constantly just putting a . . . happy face . . . over all your hurts and resentments and anger and worries without ever talking about it. Eventually it has to blow up. And it did. And we both were too busy defending ourselves and blaming each other to listen to each other. And that’s all I’m going to say about it, Uncle Brynden. It’s my business and Ned’s.”

“Fair enough. What about that woman he practically had living at his house, though? The one the kids bitch about?”

She exhaled through her nose and took another deep breath before responding. “She doesn’t practically live there, but she would probably like to. He admits he’s been relying on her entirely too much _as a friend,_ and intends to stop that at once. He is not having an affair with her.” _He hasn’t had sex with her at any rate._ She pushed that thought away as soon as it came to mind. Whether or not what Ned had been doing with the Dayne woman constituted some sort of emotional affair was not a question she wanted to ponder right now. “And before you quiz me anymore on this subject, yes I am certain of that. And even if he were, neither that nor how I chose to react to it would be any of your business.” She heard the angry edge in her voice and she sighed in an attempt to blow it away. “Uncle Brynden, please. Let’s not make this a conversation about my husband and his sins. Ned hurt me. He knows he hurt me, and he regrets that with every fiber of his being. If you can have a conversation with him some time that isn’t as antagonistic as this one, you will see that for yourself. I’ve hurt him, too. It takes two people to get to a place like this, and I did my share of the driving on this particular road to purgatory. Ned claims the lion’s share of the responsibility. He’d take all of it if I’d let him, but that isn’t healthy. We both have some work to do.”

“Work to do?” Brynden asked. “What kind of work?”

“We have to work to repair this mess we’ve made. We have to work at being two people who will never do this to each other again. We want to be together, Uncle. We both want that more than anything.”

Now it was Brynden who let out a long audible breath. “So you’re calling to tell me you and Stark are reconciled? Well, congratulations, I suppose, if that’s what you want. But what does it have to do with my New Year’s Eve plans?”

“We’re not reconciled,” she said firmly. “Not yet, anyway. I said we wanted to be. And we have a ways to go before we get there. We’ve spent the past couple days talking to each other. Listening to each other. Like we haven’t done in so long, and . . . it felt so good, Uncle Brynden. I mean it hurt, too. We’ve had to face a lot of ugly truths, but we are facing them . . . together . . . and that’s such a big difference.”

“And what did you do with all those kids while you were having these conversations?”

She laughed. “That’s actually why I’m calling you. We managed to find the time alone to have more real conversations than we’d had in the past six months. But the kids were here. And our conversations were . . . disjointed a bit. We were both trying to give them a good Christmas, and we couldn’t spend extended periods of time on ourselves. We were both concerned primarily with the children. We started something good here, though. Something more hopeful than I’ve known since before Ned left. And I think we need some real time with just the two of us in order to . . . explore that.”

“And you want to do that on New Year’s Eve? Cat, I’m happy to come babysit, but I don’t think a boozy midnight kisses are going to solve all the problems in your marriage.”

She laughed out loud at that. “No, I don’t think so either. That’s why I’m actually asking you for a few days. The older kids have a big party thing on the twenty-ninth that I really feel I shouldn’t leave town for, but I can spend all the next day stocking the house with food and making sure everyone is clear on the rules, and if you’re willing . . . I’d like to leave on the thirty-first for Winterfell and stay two or three days. Just Ned and me. And really see how we feel together now without the children we love so much surrounding us.”

He was silent again for a moment. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?” he finally said. “You don’t want to go back. You’re trying to move forward. Am I understanding this right?”

“Yes! That’s exactly it. And I don’t want to go too fast, and I know we’re getting the kids’ hopes up, and I’m getting my hopes up, too, but . . . I’ve got to do this, Uncle Brynden! I can’t give up on us. Not when Ned and I are both so miserable apart and have finally started behaving like sane human beings again. We have another chance, you see? And I can’t waste it I can’t.”

“And Stark feels the same way.”

“Yes. He’s as committed to this as I am. Maybe even more so. He’s . . . he said that he would do whatever it takes to be the man who deserves my love, instead of just a lucky son of a bitch who got it for no reason.” She felt the tears in her eyes as she recalled Ned’s words.

“Damn,” Brynden said. “I might have to revise my negative opinion of the man yet again if he keeps saying things like that and means it.”

Catelyn laughed and then sniffed and wiped at her tears. “He means it, Uncle. I know him better than I know anyone in the world. And he means it.”

“Well, I guess I need to spend a few days in King’s Landing then. They aren’t going to beg me to let them stay out all night and get drunk or high or have orgies on New Year’s Eve, are they? Because I’m too old for that shit.”

She laughed. “No!” she declared emphatically. “The older ones may want to do something with friends and I can’t promise they’re always angels, but guidelines and curfews will be thoroughly discussed before I leave. They’ll know perfectly well there’ll be hell to pay when I come home if they step out of line, and I’m quite certain you’re capable of putting the fear of God in them if need be. You could do it to us!”

“I’m only giving you a hard time, Little Cat. I may be too old for drunken orgies, but I’m perfectly capable of handling your half dozen wild things—even the hormonal teens.”

“I know you are. That’s why you were my go-to guy for this.”

“Do you want me to say anything to your father?”

“God no! After your reaction on the phone, I admit I’m terrified of his reaction in person, but . . . I really want to tell him in person. And I’m going to wait until tomorrow. Let him just enjoy the kids for Christmas first. Can you keep it to yourself until then?”

“Nobody keeps secrets from Hoster as well as I do, Cat. Nobody’s had as much practice.”

She knew he meant it as a joke, but she couldn’t bring herself to laugh at it. “I love you, Uncle Brynden,” she said. “You know that, right?”

“Of course I do, Catelyn. And I love you, too. Now get that brood of yours into the car and start driving so I can give you the hug I really need to give you right now.”

“Yes, sir!” she said. “We’ll be there as quickly as possible. I promise! And thank you. From both of us. Thank you so very much.”

“I’m not doing it for him,” Brynden grumbled, but Catelyn could tell there was no real anger in his voice as there had been when he’d spoken of Ned before.

“Well, he’ll thank you anyway. As soon as I deem it safe to let him to speak to you!” 

They laughed together again for a few moments, and then Catelyn smiled as she ended the call. She really did want to get to Riverrun. She owed her uncle all the hugs in the world. And the prospect of leaving Ned and Winterfell wasn’t nearly as daunting now that she knew she could return to him in a matter of days.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

“Sansa, you can’t take twice as much home as you brought here,” Ned said, sighing and shaking his head. His daughter had actually managed to find an empty suitcase in the house and filled it with all of her Christmas gifts. The one she’d brought from King’s Landing was filled to capacity with the things she’d brought to Winterfell. Why she needed so many things to spend a few nights in the big old house with family, he’d never know.

“But I can’t leave any of my new clothes, Daddy!” she protested. “I’ve got Margie’s party to go to, and we always go out someplace nice one of our nights in Riverrun, and I’ll be back in school before I come back up here so . . .”

“So take all your new clothes!” Ned interrupted. “And leave most of your old ones. I’ll be home by the third at the latest, and I promise I’ll bring them to you. Surely you can get along without a few things until then.”

“No fair!” Rickon shouted, running around from the other side of the SUV. “You said you couldn’t bring my Pop-a-Shot when you come! You said I have to wait so how come Sansa can have all her dumb clothes?”

“Because Sansa’s dumb clothes don’t take up nearly as much space,” Ned nearly growled at his youngest. “Now off with you! You’re all packed up so why not go shoot hoops until you actually have to leave that monstrosity behind.”

Rickon pouted, but ran toward the house anyway, and Ned turned to face his frowning daughter. “My clothes aren’t dumb,” she informed him.

He took a deep breath. “I know they aren’t sweetheart. I’m just trying to be fair to everyone and some of you aren’t making it easy.”

“Jon’s only one extra person,” Sansa said pleadingly. “There’s still one empty seat. I bet if we turn this bag on its side, we could shove it right into that seat in the back by the window.”

“And who’s riding all the way home squished up against your stupid bag?” Arya put in as she walked out to the car carrying a pair of men’s boots. “Because I’m not, and I know none of the boys will. You wanna be staring at a suitcase for the next few hours, Diva?”

“I’m not a . . .”

“Girls!” Ned interrupted. “Enough. Sansa, you go inside and come back with one bag—one—with whatever you intend to take home or on to Riverrun today. Put whatever you want brought to you next week in a bag in the entryway. All right?”

Sansa nodded rather unhappily. 

“Arya, what are you doing with Jon’s boots?” he then asked his younger daughter.

“Bringing them to the car,” she said. “They can fit in the floor in front of the empty seat and they won’t bother anyone.”

“But . . .” Sansa started.

“And I’ll sit by them!” Arya looked at her sister as if to invite a challenge.

“But he said he didn’t want to take them,” Sansa protested.

“No,” Arya said, drawing the word out into multiple syllables. “He listened to you agonize over how impossibly difficult it was to choose things to leave behind, and he felt guilty. He’s got the smallest bag of anybody, and you’d really make him leave these behind so you can squeeze in extra makeup or something? He’s coming home, Sansa! He’s coming to Christmas with us! Don’t make him feel shitty about it.”

“Arya!” Ned exclaimed in a warning tone.

“What? Mom’s not out here to object to my language.” She laughed. “She’s upstairs, Sansa, trying to hide that big old hickey on her neck with that goop you gave her. Guess she doesn’t want to explain it to Grandpa!”

Sansa looked stunned and then broke into giggles, her argument with her sister suddenly forgotten, but Ned felt a twinge of guilt as he realized he hadn’t ever called Arya out on her casual swearing while they were at his rental place. It wasn’t that he liked hearing his daughter swear or thought Catelyn was too strict. He simply hadn’t wanted his children any angrier at him than they’d already been. Realizing now that he’d essentially been undermining his wife by allowing Arya to believe he approved of her language made him feel rather shitty.

“I honestly didn’t think Jon wanted to bring them, Arya. I swear.” Sansa’s voice penetrated his thoughts, and she was no longer laughing about her mother attempting to hide a love bite with cosmetics.

“I know,” Arya said. “Sometimes you just don’t think, period. But Jon thinks about everything. So chill out about not being able to bring home everything you want right now, okay? He already feels bad about leaving Dad. Don’t make him feel bad about crowding us, too.”

“I won’t,” Sansa said softly. Then she looked up at Ned. “I’ll go put together one bag, Dad, and then maybe I’ll go help Mom with her make-up. I’d hate for Grandpa to murder you just after Robb’s decided not to!”

Both girls laughed at that, and then Arya shoved Jon’s boots at Ned so she could go with her sister back toward the house. He stood there watching them walk away and smiled. They still bickered enough to get on his last nerve, but his girls had had definitely grown closer as they’d grown up. He loved them with every fiber of his being. And he’d walked out on them.

It hurt to acknowledge that, but he’d promised Catelyn brutal honesty, and that meant being brutally honest with himself as well. Ned wasn’t much given to introspection about painful things he couldn’t change. He’d always leaned more toward simply putting anything painful away and moving forward. His dad had been like that. Ned honestly thought he could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times his father had mentioned his mother’s name without someone else bringing her up first after his mother’s death. And he’d kept any mention of her brief and nearly devoid of emotion. Rickard Stark had loved his wife dearly. Ned knew that. Yet, rather than mourn or cherish her memory, he’d willfully closed himself off from thinking about her at all—choosing to feel nothing rather than allowing himself to feel the pain of losing her. Ned was more like his father sometimes than he’d like to admit. As he’d lost his parents and each of his siblings over the years, he’d closed himself off in the aftermath. Catelyn, however, had refused to allow him to erect the kind of emotional walls Rickard Stark had thrown up. She’d always respected his need for silence and even solitude in his grief, but her love inevitably found a way to reach him through even his darkest, coldest days. _You are a warm man,_ she had assured him yesterday when he’d spoken to her of his father. Whether she’d agree with him or not, he believed her responsible for any warmth he possessed. As he’d frozen Catelyn out of his life these past few months spent mired in his own guilt, fear, anger, and stubbornness, he now saw clearly that he’d been freezing his children out as well. He’d rarely laughed with them, hadn’t had the kind of real conversations with them which had always been so important to him, and hadn’t asked them anything about their time away from him—not wanting to hear about their mother. They may have lived under his rented roof for a portion of every week, but he’d left them all the same—even Arya and Jon who’d been with him most often. He hadn’t been there for them. He’d been less open to their needs over the last half a year than his own father had ever been with him. He’d failed them miserably. Yet all six of them wanted him home, wanted him back in their lives, and he was overwhelmed by their love. As the girls disappeared into the house, he silently vowed to them and their brothers that he’d be 100% in their lives from this moment forward and that he would be back home as quickly as he and Catelyn could find their way completely back to each other. And he’d do all in his power to make that happen as quickly as possible.

“Ned!”

His name was called from somewhere above in a voice he could only describe as an attempt at a whispered shout. He looked up to see Catelyn at one of the upstairs windows which she had uncharacteristically opened in spite of the cold outside. She said nothing else—simply grinned at him and gave him two thumbs up, which he hoped meant Brynden Tully had agreed to come to King’s Landing for a few days.

Before he could call up to her and ask, however, she turned away from the window, as if speaking to someone. She turned back after a moment, but only to blow him a kiss and close the window before disappearing from view to deal with whatever child had need of her. Ned continued to look up at the window for a moment. He may not deserve his wife or his children, but every single one of them was going to know how much he loved them for the rest of his life.

Having stowed everything currently outside into Catelyn’s vehicle, he trudged back up to the house, trying very hard not to think of reasons to delay their departure. After he’d hung up his coat and pulled off his boots, he went into the great room and discovered Rickon, Bran, and Arya all throwing basketballs at Rickon’s new game. Robb and Jon were laughing about something on Robb’s phone, and Sansa and Catelyn were nowhere to be seen. 

“Where’s your mother?” he asked.

“Upstairs, I think. Sansa went up there to ask her something,” Robb offered. “Oh, Dad! Is that your phone in the kitchen? It’s been buzzing for the last ten minutes.”

Ned thought for a minute. He had brought his phone downstairs this morning and didn’t remember having it after he’d cleaned up the kitchen after breakfast. “Yeah, Robb. I think that’s me. I’ll go see what Robert wants.” Ned rolled his eyes and the kids laughed. They were used to Robert Baratheon calling on weekends and holidays. It wasn’t as bad as it had been years ago because Ned had gotten much better at ignoring most calls about work when he wasn’t supposed to be working just as he’d gotten better about refusing a lot of work-related travel.

As he picked up his phone from the kitchen counter, he almost hoped Robert had some mundane issue that needed sorting out today because it would keep him occupied after Cat and the kids left. Before he could even look at the screen, it started buzzing again and he laughed, pushing the button to answer and putting it his ear. “Ned Stark,” he said.

He was met with the sound of feminine laughter. “Well I hope so, since that’s who I called. Merry Christmas, Ned Stark!”

“Ashara . . . um, hi,” he said rather stupidly. He hadn’t expected her voice and it seemed rather jarringly out of place.

“I believe the appropriate response is for you to wish me a Merry Christmas as well,” she teased.

“Oh, yeah. Merry Christmas. I just . . . I thought it was Robert.”

She laughed again. “You are such an old man in some ways, Ned. You know you can tell who’s calling by simply looking at your phone, don’t you? Anyway, how are you? I didn’t want to interrupt while you were with your kids, but I figured they’d be heading back to your ex-wife’s place by now. Are you doing okay?”

“What? Yeah. I’m fine. Christmas was . . . much better than I expected.” He honestly didn’t know what to say to her. He knew he had to tell her something about him and Catelyn, but it felt wrong, somehow, to speak about Catelyn with her—especially when she’d just referred to Cat as his ‘ex-wife’ rather than by her name. It occurred to Ned that Ashara almost never referred to Catelyn by name and that he’d never really noticed that before.

“Oh, good. I was worried they’d give you a hard time. Children can be downright spiteful in situations like this. It’s understandable, of course, but that doesn’t make it any more fun.”

“No . . . I mean, we had some ups and downs, but the kids were really great. They’re trying to make sense of things, and we had some good talks, I think.” That was true enough.

“And how are you and Jon now that the others are gone?”

“Oh, Jon’s going with them. Catelyn’s father wanted him to come for Christmas like always. It’ll be good for him.”

“To be with your ex and her family? He won’t feel awkward there, poor boy?”

“No! The Tullys have always loved Jon, and he and the other kids always have a blast there at Christmas. Cat asked me about it before she said anything to him, and I told him I was fine with his going. It’s Christmas. I want them all together.” _And I want to be with them._

“But that leaves you all by yourself! Listen, this Christmas Day thing at my brother’s isn’t really a bit deal. Why don’t I jump in my car, and I can be there before you know it?”

She sounded so cheerful and enthusiastic, and the last thing Ned wanted to do was to upset her. She’d been disappointed when he’d told her he didn’t think it was such a good idea for her to come to Winterfell after all, but she’d understood it was all about his kids. She’d done nothing but try to help and support him since she’d pulled his drunk ass out of that bar in June. “No, Ash . . . I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“What do you mean, it’s not a good idea? It’s a great idea! You’ve had a good Christmas with the kids, right? Now, it’s time to think about yourself, Ned. Be a little selfish for once. Your kids have their mother to take care of them now, so let me come up there and take care of you!”

“I don’t need to be taken care of, you know. I am a grown man.”

She laughed. “Everyone needs taken care of sometimes, silly man. So, like I said, it’s your turn to be selfish and let someone take care of you instead of always taking care of everyone else.”

That’s the second time she’d told him to be selfish, and he couldn’t listen to her say it again. “Be selfish?” he asked much too harshly. He took a breath and willed himself to speak more calmly. “Ashara, you have no idea how selfish I’ve been. I haven’t been taking care of anyone or anything the way I should have for much too long now. And the selfish thing I intend to do now is to take a few days all by myself to try and figure out what the hell is wrong with me, so while I appreciate more than I can say everything you’ve done for me, I don’t want you to come to Winterfell. I need to be here by myself.” _And then I need to be here with Catelyn._

She was silent for a moment. “Okay,” she finally said. “If that’s what you really want.” Another beat of silence. “Did the kids like the presents we picked out for them?”

The presents ‘we’ picked out for them. His earlier conversation with Catelyn about his turning to Ashara for Christmas shopping help returned painfully to his mind. It appeared Ashara viewed her participation in selecting Ned’s gifts for his children pretty much the same way Catelyn did. That made him feel terrible. “They did,” he said simply. “Especially Rickon.”

“Oh, good! I mean, I know they aren’t exactly crazy about me yet. But I’m determined to convince them I’m really not the anti-Christ.”

Ned sighed. “They don’t think you’re the anti-Christ. They just don’t want anyone in their mother’s place. And I haven’t really been very considerate of their feelings.”

“You’ve been nothing but considerate of their feelings, Ned. And I know they’re young, especially Rickon. But I think it’s time for the older ones, at least, to start having some consideration for your feelings. Yes, you’re their father. But you’re also a man who is entitled to his own life. And their mother isn’t a part of it. I think they’ll be better off once they accept that, as painful as it is for them.”

“Ashara---I really don’t want to talk about this right now. They are my children, and I will do what I think is best for them. Catelyn and I are both trying very hard to figure out what that is. As much as I appreciate your friendship, it’s up to me and Cat to decide what our children need and when they need it. And no one else can really be a part of that.”

“Fine.” He could easily hear the hurt and irritation in her voice and he wondered idly if every woman in the world used the word fine in that precise manner when they honestly felt anything but fine. “I’ll give you your space, Ned. And I won’t say a thing about your kids. Divorce sucks for everyone involved. I get that. I just hate to see you hurting. I care about you, Ned. And maybe it’s way too soon for me to say that to you, but it’s the truth. And it’s not like we just met or anything. You do your thinking or meditating or solo hikes through the snow—whatever you think you need to do. And I’ll call you in a couple days.”

“No.”

“What?”

“Don’t call me. Please.”

“What’s wrong with you? Ned, what’s happened? Because you don’t sound right.”

“I . . .” He didn’t want to tell her over the phone that he was reconciling with Cat. He realized that he was afraid to tell her he wanted to go home to Cat at all, and that shamed him because it’s not something he should hesitate to tell someone who was simply a supportive friend. Catelyn had been right. He wasn’t in love with Ashara. He didn’t want to be with her. But he’d allowed her to fill just a bit of the emotional emptiness inside him during his estrangement from Catelyn and refused to acknowledge what he’d been doing. 

“Ned? Are you still there?”

“Yeah. I’m here. I . . . I’m sorry, Ashara. I’ve been dreadfully unfair to you. And I . . . I wanted to talk to you about it face to face, but I’m not planning to come home until after New Year’s and that’s hardly fair so . . .”

“I told you I’d come to you. Just say the word, and I’m in the car, Ned.”

“I don’t want you to come.” He’d said those words more forcefully than he’d intended. “God, I’m sorry. I don’t mean it like that. It’s just . . .”

“What do you mean, Ned?” She sounded angry now.

“I needed a friend,” he said softly. “And you were a friend, unexpected, and welcoming, and willing to help without asking a damn thing of me. And I was so grateful for that. I am so grateful for that. But . . . it’s like you said, Ash. We didn’t just meet. We have a history—a good history, but one that’s long past. And I’m afraid I ignored all the ways that history might . . . complicate a friendship in this situation.”

“But, Ned, it doesn’t have to be complicated! I’m free. You’re free. If you’re saying you feel attracted to me, that’s okay. You know damn well I’m attracted to you. There’s nothing wrong with our friendship having benefits. And if it develops into something more, then it does. We don’t have to know where we’re going. We can just take the ride.”

Her voice no longer sounded angry. It was soft and light and encouraging. And he knew she meant what she said. Just take the ride. She wasn’t asking him to commit to anything, and she wouldn’t commit to anything either. She did love him, he knew that. But she tended to love easily never too deeply. He didn’t think she ever gave her whole heart to anyone. Maybe that was smart. She could never be hurt the way that losing Catelyn had hurt him or feel the pain that Catelyn had felt when he’d walked out on her. The kind of love they shared was a hell of a risk—all in with nothing held back—and he’d learned just how badly that could hurt when it went wrong. But he also knew how incredible it felt when it went right. Smart or not, he’d choose that incomparable kind of love every time. 

“I don’t want to take that ride, Ashara. I’m sorry. The simple fact is that I am in love with my wife. I am in love with Catelyn, and I always will be. And by some miracle, in spite of everything that I’ve put us through, she is still in love with me.”

“Are you trying to tell me you’re back together with you ex-wife?”

“No. I wish I could tell you that. We have a lot to work out. Maybe we can’t do it, but I have to believe that we can. I’m telling you that I love her, Ash. And while I will never stop caring about you or stop being grateful for all that you’ve done, I can’t continue a friendship right now that’s even a little bit more than simple friendship.”

“So she doesn’t trust you around me? Or maybe you don’t trust yourself around me!” Ned hated the accusatory tone in her voice although he thought he likely deserved it.

He sighed. “Neither. This isn’t about you at all, really, and I don’t say that to hurt you. It’s simply that I’ve broken something precious, and fixing that deserves all my attention. My wife, my children, my marriage, my family—I need to give them everything right now. I want to give them everything right now.”

“You don’t know what you want! Think about it, Ned. Your divorce isn’t even final, and you’ve changed your mind already? What happens the next time you piss her off or she pisses you off—you play this divorce game again?” Ned could imagine the expression on her face and almost see her shaking her head. “It’s your life, Ned. You get to live it as you see fit, I guess, even if you’re being an idiot. But if you ever do figure out what you want, give me a call. Maybe I’ll still be around. Who knows? 

“I’ve been a bigger idiot than you’ll ever know, Ashara. I know I’ve been unfair to you, and for that I am sorry. But I do know what I want. I want my wife. I want my family. And that’s never going to change.”

“Well . . . I suppose there’s nothing else to say, is there?”

“I suppose there isn’t.” The words sounded cold to his own ears and he imagined they sounded colder to hers. He didn’t mean for them to, but he honestly couldn’t think of anything else to say that would make

“Goodbye, Ned.”

“Take care of yourself, Ash.”

She didn’t say anything else, and after a moment, Ned realized she’d ended the call and slowly lowered the phone from his ear.

“Somehow, I don’t think that was Robert.”

Catelyn’s soft voice caused him to turn around rather suddenly. She was standing in the doorway to the kitchen looking at him with an expression on her face that fell somewhere between apprehension and curiosity. 

“No,” he said quietly. “How long have you been standing there?” He hoped the question didn’t sound accusatory as he didn’t mean it that way. 

“Only a few moments. Robb told me Robert had been blowing up your phone and that you’d been in here for a bit and he feared you needed rescuing.” She continued to speak softly and evenly.

“He thought it was Robert,” Ned sighed. “I thought so myself until I answered.”

She gave him the tiniest of smiles and shook her head. “You never bother to look at the screen before you answer. You really are a telemarketer’s dream, Ned.”

“It was Ashara.”

“I know. Why did she call?”

“To wish me Merry Christmas. To ask how it went with the kids.” He hesitated. “To come up here and keep me company when I told her Jon was going to Riverrun.”

“I take it you declined that offer,” she said dryly.

“Of course, I declined it!” Ned said, raising his voice slightly in irritation, mostly with himself. “I told her I want you. I always have and always will.”

She walked into the kitchen and put her hands on his chest. “Yes, I heard that part.”

“Cat, I’m so sorry,” he said, putting his hands on her arms and tilting his head forward to rest his forehead on hers. “I am so, so sorry.”

She let him hold her like that for a moment, but then she pushed against him slightly and looked him in the eyes. “Sorry for what, Ned?”

“Everything,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve been such a fool.”

She gave him another tiny smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Those looked hurt. “You have, my darling. I have, too. But we’ve both apologized more than once for our general foolishness. What are you sorry for now?” When he just looked at her without speaking, she asked, “What are you feeling, Ned?”

How had he ever lied to her? How had he ever looked into her eyes and given her anything other than honesty? “Ashamed,” he answered finally, forcing himself to not to look away from those eyes. “You were right, Cat.” Those words were physically painful to say, and he imagined that what he had to say would be painful for her to hear as well, but he’d promised her honesty. “About Ashara and our . . . relationship since June.” He still had his hands on her arms and he could feel a slight tremor go through them although her expression didn’t change. “I never wanted her romantically and certainly not sexually,” he said hurriedly. “That’s the God’s honest truth. I’m too in love with you to want that with any other woman. That never changed. Regardless of how far apart we were.” He took another deep breath, and wondered how the hell he could even explain the rest of it. “But . . . that phone call just now—it felt almost as if I were breaking up with her, do you know what I mean?”

Now her expression began waver, and he saw the beginnings of tears in her blue eyes. “Does it hurt to let her go?” she whispered.

“No!” he said quickly. “Not like that. I . . . it hurts to know that I hurt her. And I did, Cat. She’ll recover. I know her well enough to know that she isn’t one for deep emotional investments, or for the pain that comes with them. But that doesn’t change the fact that I was unfair. That I hurt her.”

Catelyn nodded. “You have. If I were more objective, I’d likely feel badly for her. I’m afraid I’m not objective, however, and I honestly don’t give a damn about Ashara Dayne’s hurt feelings. I will, however, try very hard not to begrudge the fact that you do. Because I know that would be unfair of me.” 

“Cat, you have every right to . . .”

“I’m not interested in my rights, Ned,” she interrupted, her voice revealing more of the emotion she’d kept so tightly controlled. “Feel bad for the woman all you want. Care about her general well-being. You’re a good man, and I can’t imagine you doing anything else, but . . .” She bit her lip before continuing more softly. “Please tell me if any part of you regrets ‘breaking up with her’ as you put it. Please tell me truly if she gave you something that I haven’t. I’m not walking away. But I need to know just where we are as we try to go forward. Please.”

She looked so impossibly vulnerable and brave at the same time, Ned wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms and hold her tightly to him forever. But that’s not what she wanted. The least he could do in the face of her courage in asking the question was to answer it as honestly as he knew how. “I regret hurting her. I regret even more hurting you. I regret most of all that in my loneliness and anger, I allowed her to fill even a tiny portion of the empty space in my heart when we were so far apart. That’s your space, Cat. You fill up my heart so completely that there isn’t room for any other woman. And I’ve been honest with you—I never felt one romantic feeling toward Ashara through all of this. But, I now see that I did turn to her for some poor imitation of the comfort . . . the security . . . the sense of being cared for, I guess, that I’ve always sought from you. I’m afraid I refused to acknowledge that even to myself.”

“And will you miss that now? Miss what she gave you?” Her voice trembled slightly, and she looked down for the first time.

Ned placed his hand beneath her chin and tilted her face back up until her eyes met his once more. “No,” he said firmly. “Don’t you see? I was missing you all that time. Even before I left the house. I was missing you, missing us, missing the man I am when I have you with me. She . . . made me feel fractionally better about myself and I grabbed onto that like a fool—as some sort of balm for my hurt feelings or pride or whatever. What I should have done was to stop running away and instead hold on to the only person who can truly fill any of the empty spaces in my heart. You, Catelyn. It’s always been you. I will always be you. No one else, my love. I am a fool. I’m selfish and stubborn and prideful and certain of my own righteousness more often than I should be. But I’m yours. Completely and without regret. Whether we spend the next eighty years together or you toss me out on my ear right now, I’m yours. I love you.”

The tears were flowing freely from her eyes now. She took a breath and opened her mouth to speak.

“Hey, Mom, what’s taking so . . .” Arya’s impatient voice stopped as she took in the two of them. “Shit, Dad, what did you say to her?” she demanded angrily.

“Arya, please go back . . .” Ned began in the calmest voice he could manage.

“She’s crying, Dad. What the fuck?”

“Arya!” Catelyn said sharply. “Sit down.”

“What?” Ned and Arya said at the same time.

“I said sit down,” Catelyn repeated. Ned and Arya both sat down in kitchen chairs as Catelyn walked to the counter and got a tissue. She wiped her eyes and nose, and then looked at their daughter. “You cannot keep demanding that either your father or I justify our behavior to you, Arya. That isn’t your place.”

“But he made you cry,” Arya insisted.

“You don’t know why I’m crying, young lady. You never asked. You simply barged in here and began accusing your father. Now, I admit the two of us should have chosen a more private location for our conversation so I won’t fault you for interrupting, but your attitude has got to change now. Do you understand me?”

“But . . . why are you crying, Mom? I thought . . . I mean you said that you and Dad were . . . I don’t want you to cry anymore.” Arya now sounded far younger than her thirteen years and more terrified than angry. 

Ned and Catelyn both moved at once to embrace her, and their little girl began crying herself, sobbing as she held onto both of them harder than Ned had seen her cry since she was a very small child. Neither he nor Catelyn said anything. They simply held her. At one point, Ned heard Catelyn whisper, “It’s all right. Give us some time,” and he followed her eyes to the doorway where Jon stood with a stunned look on his face. Then he nodded and left the kitchen.

After a bit, Arya’s crying ceased, and she let go of Ned and Catelyn and ran a sleeve across her nose, sniffing loudly.

“I believe that’s what these are for,” Catelyn said calmly, bringing her the box of tissues.

Arya reached up a hand, took a tissue and blew her nose loudly. “Well, that sucked,” she said after a moment.

“Yes, Arya. Lots of things have sucked over the past several months.” Ned and Arya both startled at Catelyn’s use of the term. She had never been a fan of it. Catelyn almost laughed at them, but then sat down next to Arya. “Crying isn’t pleasant, I know,” she said softly. “And you’re very like your father in that you bottle things up and go silent or get angry rather than cry most of the time. But we all need to cry sometimes, Arya. And it honestly can be good for us. By your standards, I’ve no doubt I’ve cried an excess amount since we got to Winterfell, but I’m in a much better place than I was when I arrived.”

Those words caused Ned to look carefully at Catelyn. She hadn’t had a chance to respond to his words before Arya had interrupted them. She reached over and squeezed his hand. “Sometimes,” she said, looking back toward Arya, “Getting to a better place is painful. But it’s worth it. It’s always worth it, sweetling.” She glanced at Ned then, and he squeezed her hand in return, grateful beyond belief for this woman’s strength and loving heart.

“I just want everything to go back to normal,” Arya said. “I want you and Dad back the way you used to be.”

“Ah,” she said then. “You see that’s the problem, my sweet girl. I’m greedier than you are. I want Dad and I to go even further. I want us better than we used to be.”

“You were already better than everybody else’s parents,” Arya said sullenly with a voice and expression that could easily have been Rickon’s, and Ned found himself hiding a smile.

Catelyn, on the other hand, smiled widely at her. “Well, I told you I was greedy.” Then her expression became serious again. “Arya, this divorce hurt all of us. That pain isn’t going to evaporate. It’s going to heal over time, more slowly than we’d like, I’m afraid. But it will heal. And your father and I want to heal together. That means we’re going to have to have some painful conversations. And sometimes, we’re going to cry. Now, I never liked seeing my parents cry when I was a kid. It scared me, honestly. And your father and I will do our best to keep our more painful conversations private—not because we’re keeping secrets, but because we never want to scare you. And there’s no reason for you to be afraid. Do you understand?”

“I guess,” Arya mumbled. Then she looked her mother in the eyes. “Are you scared, Mom?”

Ned looked at Catelyn closely, wondering how she’d answer that question. 

“Terrified,” she said without hesitation. “Terrified that I’ll do something that hurts one of you children. That I’ll somehow do the wrong thing in raising you or not protect you well enough or . . .”

“That’s not what I meant, Mom, and you know it!” Arya said.

Catelyn smiled at her. “I know, but it’s the truth. I’ve been a little bit terrified since Robb was born and that’s been repeated with each of you. I found myself a little bit terrified when I fell in love with your father and realized just how hard I’d fallen. Love is scary, Arya. But love also makes you brave. And it’s so very worth it. So, yes, my sweetling, after all the hurts we’ve all suffered in this whole mess your father and I created, it’s scary to look forward and realize how hard it will be to get where we want to go, and how much it might hurt sometimes. But it’s worth it. Loving all of you has taught me that. So it doesn’t really matter if I’m scared. It isn’t going to stop me.”

“It isn’t going to stop either of us, Arya,” Ned put in, feeling the need to join the conversation after simply sitting back in awe and admiration of his wife for so long. “Your mother and I are human. We’re going to get angry at each other. We’re going hurt each other’s feelings. We’ll try, of course, to never do either of those things, and hopefully we’ll succeed most of the time. But you needn’t fear when we don’t succeed. We aren’t quitting.”

“Okay. You won’t tell anybody I cried like a baby will you?”

“No,” Ned told her, thankful that it had been Jon who wandered in earlier, as he was easily the best of the children at keeping things to himself. “But I do hope you listened to what your mother said earlier about your attitude. I’m afraid I’ve been far too lenient with you for fear of hurting you any more than I already had. But I’ve been wrong to do so. The disrespect, the foul language—these things must improve or there will be consequences. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” Arya said seriously before breaking into a grin. “If it means you two are gonna act more like yourselves again, I can handle being grounded.”

“Now, go on upstairs the back way,” Catelyn told her. “You can splash some water on your face and let the redness in your eyes clear up a bit before you face your siblings. I’ll tell them I asked you to get something—my slippers. They’re in my bedroom. Your grandfather says it’s unseasonably cold in Riverrun and I’d like to have them there. Don’t rush, sweetling, but try not to take too long. We do need to get on the road.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Arya said and sprinted out of the kitchen, turning down the hallway toward the back staircase before any of the other kids could spot her.

“Are you all right, Cat?” Ned asked when she’d gone.

“All right? I feel a little bit banged up, to tell the truth. But I’ll be okay. Thank you for answering my questions, by the way. I know that wasn’t easy for you.”

“I don’t ever want it to be easy for me to hurt you, Cat. I wish like hell I could quit doing it.”

“But that’s exactly what we’re doing. Or trying to, at least. Getting to a place past all of this, and then not ever hurting each other like this again. I meant it when I told Arya it’s worth it.”

“I know you did. How many people are in the world? 5 or 6 billion?”

She looked at him in confusion, but replied, “I think it’s over 7 billion now, actually. Why?”

“Seven billion people on the planet. And I’ve been gifted with the finest one of them all to share my life with.” She laughed at him, but he was being entirely serious. “I may be a fool, Catelyn, but I’m not fool enough to ever take that gift for granted again.”

“I do love you, Eddard Stark.” She kissed him much too briefly and added, “But we’d better get out to the kids. Poor Jon is probably losing his mind coming up with reasons to keep them out of here.” He laughed and she started pulling him toward the doorway. “Oh!” she said suddenly. “I didn’t get to officially tell you Uncle Brynden is all set to keep the kids from New Year’s Eve until whenever we come back the first week of January.”

“I was hoping that was what your ‘thumbs up’ was about earlier. Brynden Tully is now officially my hero, even if he does hate my guts.”

She laughed and pulled him on out of the kitchen.

“What took you so long?” Rickon wailed at the same time as Bran asked, “Is Arya in trouble?”

“Arya is not in trouble,” Ned assured Bran. Then turning toward Rickon and the other kids, he said, “She simply wanted to speak with us about a few things.”

“What things?” Rickon asked.

“Ask her,” Ned told him.

“She won’t tell me. She never tells me anything,” Rickon grumbled.

“Well then perhaps it’s none of your business,” Ned laughed, picking up his youngest and swinging him around.

“Where is Arya?” Sansa asked. “Jon said she was with you in the kitchen.”

“She was. I sent her upstairs to get something for me. But come on, all of you. Hug your father and tell him you’ll see him in the New Year. It’s time we were on the road.”

This pronouncement led to minimal grumbling as the kids had been packed and ready to go for awhile and were now just ready to get on the road. Ned embraced each of his children in turn trying very hard not to dwell on the fact that he’d just about give up a limb to be traveling to Riverrun with them as he had every other Christmas of their lives. The thought of not seeing them for over a week when he felt closer to them than he had in a very long time was physically painful, and he held onto each of them probably a little longer than they would have liked.

Arya came bounding down the stairs with Catelyn’s slippers in hand as the good byes were being said with only a minimal redness in her eyes to hint at her earlier tears, and Ned didn’t see any of the children look at her with concern except for Jon. He wouldn’t say anything to her, though—not unless she said something to him first. After he’d hugged Rickon for a second time and hoisted him onto his back for the trek out to the SUV, he looked up to see Catelyn standing in front of him, wearing her coat and holding his out to him.

“If you’re carrying him out to the car, at least put on a coat. It’s well below freezing out there this morning.”

He smiled at her and shook his head, but didn’t argue. They trekked outside and a few snowballs were thrown on the short journey, and then all the kids hugged Ned again before climbing into the car. When he closed the door behind the last of them, he looked up to see Catelyn still standing beside the closed driver’s side door.

“I’ll walk you back to the house,” she said.

“I might not want to let you go,” he warned her.

“You will, though.” She smiled and linked her arm with his as they walked back toward the door. “I’ll be back in just under a week.”

“I was thinking about that. Would you mind terribly if I came home to King’s Landing—to the rental place, I mean—on the 30th. That way I could see the kids, and then we could drive up here together, if you’d like.”

“Oh, you should come see the kids!” she exclaimed. “Otherwise you’ll go so long without them. As for driving together . . .”

“Cat, it’s silly to bring two cars up here.”

“I suppose that’s true.” She smiled at him. “Is it ridiculous that I’m almost more nervous about being alone in a car with you for three hours than spending three days in Winterfell?”

“Well, there’s nowhere to get away from each other in a car. Although, I have no desire to get away from you ever again,” he assured her.

“No,” she laughed. “It isn’t that. It’s just . . . we’ve talked a lot this weekend, Ned. But all our conversations have been so . . . hard. I mean, they’ve been good and important, but about such serious and difficult things. Do you remember all the silly conversations about everything under the sun we used to have in the car—before we had the kids or when they were still small enough to all fall asleep?”

“I still maintain that Great Expectations is the stupidest, more boring book anyone has ever been forced to read,” he replied promptly.

“Oh God! The great Charles Dickens debate! I’d forgotten that one!” She laughed, and Ned wondered if there was a lovelier sound in the world than her laughter in the cold, crisp winter air.

“How could you forget that one?” he replied, smiling at her. “I still can’t believe we argued about Dickens novels half the distance from King’s Landing to Riverrun!”

“I was just impressed you’d read as many as you had.”

“Well, I was still very much invested in impressing you then. And I’d have discussed anything to keep my mind off our destination. That was the weekend I met your father AND your uncle for the first time, remember?”

“I remember,” she said softly. “Ned, I want us to have those kinds of conversations in the car again. I want us to talk about anything . . . and nothing. I know we have a lot more serious conversations ahead of us, and that we need to have some of those next week, but . . . I want to know that we can still just . . . enjoy each other’s company on a car ride. Am I being ridiculous?”

“No,” he said. They’d reached the door of the house, and he turned her to face him. “We need to find ourselves again, Cat. We have to find all the things we’ve managed to toss away—the big and the small. But we can do it, my love. I believe in us.”

“I believe in us, too, Ned. So yes, let’s drive up together. I’m brave enough to do that, I think, even if I am a little scared.”

“My father once told me that fear is necessary for bravery, Cat. There’s no need to brave unless you’re frightened. So the two of us will face our fears and be brave together, all right?”

The car horn sounded loudly and they both laughed.

“Kiss me goodbye, beautiful,” he said. He used to say that to her all the time, whether he was leaving for a week-long trip with Robert Baratheon or going into the kitchen to get something to drink. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d said it to her.

She smiled and kissed him, winding her arms around his neck and feeling so warm in his arms that he never wanted to let her go. He knew he had to, though. The kids would be honking the horn again if he didn’t.

“Marry me, Cat,” he said when their lips separated.

“Not yet,” she answered with a smile.

“I’m going to ask you again on New Year’s Eve.”

Her smile faded then. “Ned,” she said seriously. “I love you. I do. But . . . I’m still . . . I don’t want to get into all of this right now, but if Arya hadn’t interrupted us when she did, I don’t know what I would have said to you. That hurt. And I know you love me, I do. I just . . . I have to work through all of this. We have to work through all of it. And I don’t know how long that’s going to take.”

“I know that,” he said just as seriously. “Don’t forget to call that counselor when you get back to King’s Landing after Christmas. I’m ready to get started, Cat. I’m ready to do all the hard work. And I’m not going to rush you. But I am going to ask you to marry me on New Year’s Eve even though I fully expect you to say ‘Not yet’ again.”

“You promised not to rush me.”

“And I’m not going to rush you. I just don’t ever want you to forget that I’m in this forever. You can tell me ‘not yet’ on New Year’ and Valentine’s Day and St. Patrick’s Day and . . . whatever comes after that—Easter, I suppose. I’ll keep asking you for months and years, not because I’m in a hurry, but because I’m never quitting on you again. I’m never quitting on us.”

When he finished speaking, she just stood there looking at him, and he saw hope and joy and all the love anyone could ever want in the expression on her beautiful face.

The car horn blared again. 

She laughed then. “You might not want to rush me, but I know six other Starks who certainly do.”

He grabbed her and kissed her again, more quickly than before but with no less intensity. “Go, Cat,” he forced himself to say, “You really do have to leave.”

“I love you,” she said. “I’ll call you to let you know we’ve made it to Riverrun.”

“I love you, too.”

She turned to run back to the car then, but stopped after a couple steps and turned around. “Ned, I’m not going to say yes on New Year’s Eve. But I’m glad you still want to ask me.”

“I’ll never stop asking you,” he assured you.

She smiled. “Yes, you will. Just not yet.”

“Cat! I meant what I said. I will never give up on us!”

To his great irritation, she started laughing at him. “I know you won’t! Neither will I. But I’m confident you’ll stop asking me that question one day.” When he frowned at her, she laughed again. “Think about it, Ned!” Then she turned and ran to the car, opening her door and getting inside almost without stopping.

As he watched her carefully back the big vehicle up, turn it, and slowly maneuver it over the plowed driveway, he mulled over her words and began to laugh himself. _Not yet._ As long as she answered his marriage proposals with those two words, she wasn’t saying no. And he would stop asking her once she said yes.

_“I’ll never stop asking you.”_

_“Yes, you will. Just not yet.”_

Ned watched the tail lights of the big SUV disappear around the big bend in the road once it passed beyond Winterfell’s gate, carrying his family away from him. The thought of them spending the rest of the holiday without him chilled him far more than the winter air, but the promise in Catelyn’s words warmed him more than any fire could. He went back into the house and stomped the snow off his boots. Maybe he’d go hiking tomorrow if the weather held. He’d always liked to hike in the snow as long as it wasn’t actively falling. He’d think about who he was, and who he wanted to be. He’d think about the secret he’d held so closely for so long, about Jon and what that secret could or should mean in his life. He’d think about Catelyn—about the things they’d said to each other, the things they still needed to say to each other, the hurts that weren’t yet healed but at least no longer felt insurmountable. 

He honestly had more questions than answers about a lot of those things right now, but he was willing to ask those questions of himself. Left alone, on Christmas Day, he missed his wife and his family more than he could say. Yet, he realized he felt stronger than he had in a long time, because on this broken Christmas, he’d been given the opportunity to repair something infinitely more important than any holiday.

Catelyn’s words to Arya in the kitchen earlier resonated in his brain. _But it’s worth it. Loving all of you has taught me that. So it doesn’t really matter if I’m scared. It isn’t going to stop me._

“You’re worth everything, Cat,” he said aloud into the great room that now seemed so very empty in spite of the Pop-a-Shot, telescope and assorted boxes and other items that still covered much of the floor space. “You, me, the children. We’re worth all of it.”

His eyes fell upon the piano, and he smiled, recalling how Jon had played accompaniment for Catelyn and then held her hand as they took their bows and she kissed his cheek. This broken Christmas had truly been an opportunity, and Ned Stark was not a man who wasted opportunities. After one last fond glance toward the piano, he walked into the kitchen to see if any decent donuts were left, humming “Oh Holy Night” as he went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I finally ended my little Christmas tale--after New Year's, Groundhog Day, St.Patrick's Day, and Easter, I'm afraid, but at least I got it finished before Mother's Day! (here in the U.S anyway.)
> 
> Thank you so much to all of you who've stuck with me and read this story and to everyone who's left comments. I'm late to work because my darling editor, cloudsinmycoffee9, just got the last bit back to me and I was determined to post his before I left, but I HAVE to go to work now, LOL. I promise to catch up on responding to comments very soon. They ARE appreciated!


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